


Juno Steel and the Forbidden Ruin

by hopeless_eccentric



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Action/Adventure, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anthropologist Juno Steel, Canon Typical lack of homophobia!, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Love Confessions, Other, Poker, That Boulder from Indiana Jones, Theft, Thief Peter Nureyev, Whump, but with ethical anthropology, literally only for aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 28,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27570370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Juno spent the majority of his time at the museum wishing something interesting would happen. Every hour behind the front desk instead of doing real research stretched into an eternity. He was pretty convinced he spent more time pointing the sparse crowd of visitors towards the bathroom than doing a single thing he had gone into the field to do.He was tired and undervalued, and worst of all, bored out of his mind.Juno began to regret that wish when that boredom was replaced with a gun to his head.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 200
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! Like I said, not quite an indiana jones au because of the utter lack of ethics or any respect for other cultures, so ive gone to lengths to ensure we keep all the tropes we love (keep your eyes peeled for renegade boulders) without all the stuff we hate (please stop stealing things from religious structures and calling it archaeology)
> 
> Content warnings for gun violence, blood, and minor injury

Juno spent the majority of his time at the museum wishing something interesting would happen. Every hour behind the front desk instead of doing real research stretched into an eternity. He was pretty convinced he spent more time pointing the sparse crowd of visitors towards the bathroom than doing a single thing he had gone into the field to do. 

He was tired and undervalued, and worst of all, bored out of his mind.

Juno began to regret that wish when that boredom was replaced with a gun to his head.

“Get the stupid rock,” the goon behind him growled somewhere behind a mess of scarves tossed about his head to hide his face. 

“Hey, come on, it’s a tablet—” Juno protested, though the words shriveled on his tongue when the man’s revolver jammed a little more insistently into his temple. “Jeez, okay, fine, take the stupid rock.”

The man nodded at his comrade, dressed in the same layers of wrapped fabric that kept the face away from both sand and prying eyes. Juno noted their wrappings looked nearly uniform. He couldn’t think of a reason for it other than a third party who saw fit to hire goons to rob a tacky little tourist trap.

The second thief grunted when he plunged the base of his knife into the glass case in which the tablet, stupid rock, or reason Juno had actually been given a job, sat. Juno winced when the glass shattered, trying simultaneously to count the shards of glass and the dollars the curator would make him pay to make up for all of it. He grimaced once more at the sight of the man’s gloved hand seizing around the saucer-sized stone rectangle, while Juno could count at least three times he had been chewed out for carrying the stupid thing with one hand.

“Jesus, if you’re gonna steal an artifact, at least be careful,” he spat, far beyond his better judgement when the man behind him tightened the grip of his elbow around Juno’s neck. 

“Is that all the boss wants?” The man behind Juno persisted.

“What do I look like, some kind of psychic?” The second thief snorted. “She scares the shit out of me. I don’t wanna have to ever be in the same room with her or her slimy rat bastard pal again.”

“You called?” A voice rang out from the front door, as light and easy as a breeze knocking it open. 

“Shit,” the man behind Juno hissed. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” The second thief spat, nearly dropping the artifact in shock. “She said you were already on your flight.”

The man smiled with all the sickly joy of a snake preparing to strike, eyes sharp and fangs even sharper. Had two very intimidating individuals not turned to jelly upon his entrance, Juno would have found him handsome. He wore no coverings over his face, leaving Juno with a perfect view of the gentle curve of his cheek and resolute line of his jaw. He looked, in many ways, like one of the Grecian statues whose replicas were sold as paperweights in the gift shop. Juno was sure even the gods and myths and monsters depicted in that cheap faux-marble would have to tremble at his feet. Fear knew that the man in the doorway was far more fearsome than it.

When the man’s face broke into a fox’s grin, Juno remembered his soft spot for crime novels, in which a bare face often meant no intention to leave survivors. However, the fluttering thing in his chest that came up with his worst ideas and greatest weaknesses noted that at least, he’d die looking at something nice.

He wore the kind of button down shirt that suggested wealth, though he wore it in a way that left it loose, yet clinging to him like a desperate suitor. He wore the kind of boots that suggested work, though he wore them as if they were merely meant to suggest the shapes of his calves. He wore a dazzling smile on his sharpened face and a pistol on each hip, and of the two, Juno was pretty sure he was less afraid of the guns.

“Come now, gentlemen,” the unmasked man chuckled as the room flickered into silence like a candle blown out by a bolt of chilly night breeze. He paused to nod towards Juno. “And lady.”

Juno’s confused noise was stifled by the arm wrapped around his throat, sweat-slick and hairy and growing ever tighter around his neck as the man started to get twitchy. 

“Why so quiet?” The thief mused as if the remainder of the room should have found it funny too.

“What the hell are you doing here, Ransom?” The man behind Juno sputtered out, voice wavering between the higher octave of fear and the lower octave of intimidation. 

His attempts at appearing anything less than terrified fell flat, however, for Ransom’s friendly gaze turned sour in his direction and Juno felt the man jolt behind him, as if those dark and shining eyes had been a bullet.

“I could ask you the very same question,” he returned coolly. “Miasma specifically requested that no hostages were taken, correct?”

“I’m not killing him until we’ve got the rock—”

“Correct?”

The man swallowed. Juno groaned.

“Just kill me already, it’ll get me the hell out of here,” he huffed, though the noise came out small and choked.

“Let him go,” Ransom said.

Juno raised an eyebrow.

“Is this one of those things where you’re gonna shoot me by the door to spread out the crime scene?” He attempted to say, for the man’s grip on his neck had done little to lessen. 

“Dear Lord, no,” Ransom sputtered. “I’m a thief, not a murderer, my dear curator.”

Juno snorted.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Hey asshole, you gonna let my neck go or not?”

With Ransom’s icy gaze gradually melting the man behind Juno, he felt emboldened enough to drive an elbow in between his ribs. The man let out a groan, but his arms fell away regardless, leaving Juno to tumble out of his grasp and straight into the shoulder of that enigma of a thief at the center of the room. 

Ransom, perhaps out of sympathy, or perhaps out of a far crueller motive Juno could yet to make sense of, caught him with a dancer’s hands. His touch was no heavier than it had to be, and yet, it was steadying. Juno almost heard him chuckle as he righted him back on his feet, a hand trailing behind on his shoulder while Juno heaved for the breath the goon had so recently been cutting off.

“Feeling better, darling?” Ransom asked, the ice in his voice shattering for a moment.

Juno looked up, pretending not to notice that Ransom’s careful hand still lingered behind, even now that Juno could stand on his own.

“Look,” Juno snapped, and Ransom’s hand lifted from his shoulder like a bird standing atop a crocodile until it gnashed its teeth. “If you’re gonna kill me, fine. Go ahead. Just quit playing with your food.”

“Darling, I would never,” Ransom protested.

“Quit flirting,” the second thief, hand still trembling around the artifact, growled. “Are you gonna let us leave, or are you gonna get in our way?”

“I’ll have you know that I recently received correspondence from our employer entrusting me with the safety of the artifact, if you’ll believe my word,” Ransom returned upon straightening himself and returning to his strange baseline expression, somewhere between professionalism and devil-may-care.

“Yeah, no way,” the thief laughed cruelly. 

“Then, I’m afraid we’ve come to an impasse,” Ransom shrugged. “Why don’t I settle the matter then?”

Before either thief could so much as twitch, Ransom had drawn both pistols, each trapping a goon within their sights. A smile leapt onto his face in the same moment that a match had been struck within his eyes. With two guns trained on a pair of thieves who seemed more scared of Ransom than death, he wore a grin that said he could have shook his fist up at the sky and challenged God.

“You bastard,” the goon who had choked Juno sputtered out.

“It’s impersonal, I assure you,” Ransom smiled. “Juno, dear, won’t you fetch me that stone?”

“Why the hell should I help you?” Juno all but yelped from his spot along the wall where he had snuck off to, just for the sake of putting a few more feet between him and the wildfire burning at the center of the display room. 

“Juno,” Ransom began.

“Yeah, and why the hell do you know my name?”

Ransom sighed, as if dealing with a petulant child refusing to go to bed, rather than someone he was attempting to rob.

“Darling—”

“Don’t ‘darling’ me, I want an answer, dammit!”

“Juno,” Ransom began slowly. “I am currently the only person in the room who does not wish you ill. If you could, perhaps, do me the single kindness of placing that artifact within my satchel while both of my hands are busied keeping you alive, I would greatly appreciate it. I left the front door unlocked, if you wish to run, though I would much prefer not having to kill anyone for a near-stranger. As lovely as you are, I don’t think we’re that close yet.”

“That doesn’t tell me why you know—”

“Dear heavens, Juno, it’s on your desk,” Ransom huffed, nodding towards a patch of wood that was somehow meant to carry the work of a professor and curator who much rather had his employees do his research for him. 

“Oh.”

“Have I massaged your insecurities enough, or would you rather I give you words of affirmation before you help me?” Ransom pressed. “Goodness, you’re a sensitive little thing.”

“I’ll be sensitive when I wanna be sensitive, goddammit,” Juno grumbled, if only for some other sound to break the tolling of the funeral bells that were his footsteps across the room. 

With the barrels of Ransom’s guns like two dark eyes glowering over the room, Juno could almost pretend he hadn’t spent weeks trying to translate the truly dead language inscribed into the artifact’s front and back and edges while the curator told him his efforts were useless. He could almost forget that it might have had ties to the damned legend that had dragged him into years of college and debt and muddling behind a lousy desk in the first place.

Of course, some stupid, handsome thief just had to swing in on a beam of starlight and topple his years of work like a finger flicking a house of cards.

It was easier to rip the artifact from the thief’s hands than it was to shove it into Ransom’s satchel, though Ransom’s appreciative smile tried and failed to soften his glare.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said softly enough that the words were shared between just the two of them.

“I’m not doing you a favor,” Juno snapped.

“This won’t be the last time we meet, I assure you,” Ransom murmured, though his gaze still periodically jumped up to the two other thieves, who remained seething in their relative corners of the room. “This won’t be the last you see that artifact, either. I promise, I will do everything in my power to assure no harm comes to you because of this day.”

Juno snorted.

“Like hell you are,” he laughed mirthlessly. “And I’m just supposed to believe the word of a thief?”

“I suppose so,” Ransom returned, though his smile was genuine, almost soft.

After a moment’s pause in which he seemed to search and fail to find any words to hold up against the glare knitting across Juno’s brow, he lowered his guns. Only then did Juno catch his first faltering, as Ransom’s arms had begun to shake with the effort of holding up his threat. His second mistake was pausing for a deep breath as he prepared to back out of the store.

“Ransom—” Juno tried to call, but the bullet had already sunk its teeth in the wall beside Juno’s head.

“Juno, get down!” Ransom ordered, though before Juno could do anything about it himself, he seized Juno by the arm and whirled him behind a display case. 

Behind the case, Juno heard another series of shots and a cry that definitely wasn’t Ransom’s. 

“I can’t hold them off forever,” Ransom warned, his voice strained by the effort of ducking and shooting around Juno’s desk. 

“I am so fired,” Juno groaned. “Who’s winning?”

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Ransom hissed.

“It’s been a thirty eight year set up, Ransom,” Juno shrugged. “This feels about time for a punchline.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Ransom growled through another series of shots that only seemed to shatter another case. “Is there a way out of here?”

“I might be able to get out the back door,” Juno considered. 

“Then do so,” Ransom swallowed. “Dammit, of course the moment I try to do some good in the world—”

Ransom’s musings were cut off by a gasping shout and a thunk against the other side of the display case. The glass wobbled precariously against Juno’s back, but he knew it had not been the jostling that had made his heart sink in his chest.

“Ransom?” He called, voice sounding strangely loud as the firing died. 

No response. 

Juno pretended the smell of blood wasn’t already going to his head and tried to jostle the case again, but all he heard in reply was a stifled groan that cut off all too short before the room faded out into grave silence once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh dearest me looks like ive mildly injured someone enough to give myself an excuse for hurt/comfort again ahaha whoopsies
> 
> Content warnings for blood, injury, pursuit, nausea mention

“Ransom,” Juno insisted. “Come on, answer me, dammit.”

“You think we got ‘em?” One of the thieves growled from across the room, though his voice choked and sputtered around an unseen injury. 

The other chuckled mirthlessly.

“I don’t wanna stick around to find out. And if he really was telling the truth, I don’t want the boss to know we did it,” he returned.

“Now where the hell’s that rock?”

Juno took their distraction as a moment to sneak around the edge of the display case, dread building in a lump in his throat as he braced himself for whatever blood or gore might greet him where the man who had robbed and rescued him in the same breath lay. 

Bullet holes had torn through the half of his desk nearest to the thieves, lighting the tiny space underneath with the dusky yellow-orange of desert sunset as it crept through the windows of the closed museum lobby. Even if the museum itself was no larger than a local library and no more decorated than the depression would allow, for a moment, Juno thought the light looked almost beautiful.

“Ransom,” he hissed again when he found the thief’s slumped and bleeding form. 

Ransom had done him the service of covering the majority of his wound with his hands, though blood still bloomed through his fingers like a late-summer rose while agony refused to be stifled upon his face. His hands sat just above his left hip, though one, painted wine-red in the dusky, bullet-stained light reached up for Juno when he managed to shove himself beneath the desk.

“Juno, you need to go,” he whispered. “Take the artifact and leave.”

“They’re gonna kill you,” he protested.

“And they’ll kill far more people if they’re able to retrieve that stone,” Ransom choked. 

“I’m not just letting some guy die under my desk,” Juno blurted out, for it was the only thing he could find to say. 

Perhaps there were a more complicated series of reasons he didn’t want Ransom to die, though Juno tried his best not to think about them. Ransom didn’t need to know that he seemed charming and handsome and that somewhere, beneath the ire of having something so important to him stolen, Juno was grateful to have been spared his life. Juno didn’t need to think about it either, though when Ransom twisted with a silent wince and seized Juno by the wrist as if that point of contact was his only string between this world in the next, Juno found it increasingly difficult to avoid such feelings.

“Go,” Ransom insisted. “I’ll take care of myself, just take my bag and leave.”

“Dammit,” Juno groaned. “You’re worse than I am.”

“What a wonderful bedside manner you have, dear,” Ransom grimaced. “How lovely to know that your comfort will be my last company before I pass.”

“Oh, quit being dramatic,” Juno snapped under his breath, mind racing frantically to plot a pathway towards the door that would hide behind the most shelves and cases and statues. 

“I’ve been shot, Juno,” Ransom sputtered. “I think I’m entitled to theatrics.”

“Shh,” Juno hissed. “I think I can get us both out of here, I just need you to shut the hell up before they find us.”

Ransom opened his mouth to complain, though the sound he let out was a guttural cry of pain into Juno’s shoulder instead, for Juno’s attempt to pick him up had landed his hand right overtop the wound. Juno tried to whisper out a string of apologies in the same moment he used to search in desperation for his footing, though Ransom shook his head. Even if he seemed to pant too hard to come up with any meaningful response, Juno understood he was forgiven.

“If you die doing this, I’ll never forgive you,” he finally breathed. “I don’t usually get saved.”

“Call us even,” Juno returned, eyes going wide when his knee popped, sounding infinitely louder than any of the gunshots still ringing in his ears.

“What was that?” One of the thieves hissed from across the room.

“Your stomach, dumbass,” the other snorted. 

“It ain’t funny,” he sniffed.

“Go,” Ransom pressed, words fluttering right above Juno’s collarbone. 

Distantly, Juno could feel Ransom’s bloodstained hands grasping to the back of his neck for whatever amount of support he could offer in sympathy to Juno’s rescue effort. However, he was a million miles away from the blood smearing on the collar of his button down and the quiet sounds of bitten-down pain getting smothered by his shoulder. 

He could only focus on the way the marble floor slipped beneath shoes that were never made for running for one’s life. Every step and breath and pounding beat of his heart seemed to echo in the room like a shout in the great, dark expanse of a cave. However, he experienced none of nature’s solitude, for there were soon two more pairs of feet slamming and echoing along the floor in a percussive parody of a storm cloud.

“We’re almost there,” he hissed, as if he had any reason at all to comfort the man who still held Juno’s life’s work within his bag. “You’re gonna make it.”

“See, now that’s much better,” Ransom tried to say as evenly as possible. “Your bedside manner is improving, darling.”

“Shut up,” Juno snorted, the laugh coughed out of his lungs by sheer adrenaline when he slammed the shoulder furthest from Ransom’s head into the back door and spat himself into a back alley.

“That’s probably ideal, isn’t it?” Ransom managed a wiry chuckle.

“Yeah, I’m not a doctor, but it’s probably best for the both of us,” Juno huffed, pausing long enough to catch half his breath and throw a glance over his shoulder before beginning to pace back and forth through the maze of empty back alleys and side streets as evening began to sink its teeth into the city.

“I was under the impression that you—” Ransom broke off to gasp when Juno’s stride jostled him just too much. “Had a degree of some higher level.”

“Underpaid assistant,” Juno huffed. “With jobs like writing the curator’s papers and signing his name.”

“And I thought my line of business was dreadful,” Ransom winced, though from pain or sympathy, Juno could not tell. 

As much as his jostling had eased with the slowing of Juno’s step, Ransom still didn’t seem any more healed than he had been when left to bleed against the other side of Juno’s desk. He still clung to Juno’s neck like a lifeline, though Juno could not find it in himself to complain if he grasped a little too tight and accidentally pinched the skin. 

“What’s your job?” Juno asked, breaking his own rule against conversation just to keep Ransom out of the grasp of shock.

“Thief for hire,” Ransom chuckled. Had the sound not been so strained, Juno would have almost found it beautiful.

“Yeah, I probably should have put that much together,” Juno heard himself laugh in return, feeling his heart begin to drag itself out of the pit of his stomach when Ransom smiled at him.

“Was it the thievery that gave me away?”

Juno rolled his eyes.

“Shut up and act passed out,” Juno hissed. “We’re almost back to my apartment, and I doubt my neighbors are gonna be too happy with me if they see me taking home a bleeding criminal.”

“As opposed to a dead one?” Ransom returned flatly.

“Fine, act however the hell you want, just make this look better,” Juno huffed.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected, but a kiss to the cheek certainly wasn’t it.

“My, you are strong, my love,” Ransom chuckled a little too loudly, adding a slight hiccup to the end of his voice. 

Juno opened his mouth to protest, though he was sure his neighbors had already resolved to pray for peace and quiet for the night, and any subsequent change in Ransom’s tone would probably result in suspicion.

“Honey,” Juno started awkwardly, the syllables falling out of his mouth with all the grace of a chicken trying to fly. “Let’s get you inside.”

“But you’re so lovely in the moonlight, dear,” Ransom pretended to protest. 

For a moment, he glanced up at Juno with eyes that seemed to hold an entire world in them. They were stars and moonlight and the sparking of afternoon sun hitting a lake. Any celestial body Juno tried and failed to think of paled in comparison to that expression, soft and domestic and something Juno thought he would never truly see for himself.

Ransom looked as if he were about to kiss him and mean it. Juno was pretty sure he couldn’t cope with that, so with the most effort it had ever taken him to do anything, he tore his gaze away and carried Ransom the rest of the way into his apartment.

Juno let out a shuddering gasp when he finally managed to set Ransom down upon the bed, arms only then giving into their trembling ache. However, any noise of relief he might have made paled in comparison to Ransom’s groan, even trapped beneath the hand over his mouth.

“I’ve got a first aid kit somewhere, just give me a second,” Juno said quickly. 

“I don’t know how many seconds I have left, Juno,” Ransom complained, though the words slurred from the pair of knuckles he seized between his teeth. “And if you call a doctor, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Glad to know I’m in friendly company,” Juno snorted, though it was mirthless, his gaze far too busied on the supplies in his first aid kit and just how the hell to look over Ransom without doing anything to make him far worse.

“I can help with instructions, if you’d like,” Ransom offered from his new spot, leaned against the headboard.

“Good,” Juno swallowed. “I hate blood.”

“I can see then why you chose this field,” Ransom smiled tersely. “Every person you study is long dead.”

“Something like that.”

“Why don’t you tell me some more about that while you look my injury over?” Ransom choked as Juno made his way over to the bed, first aid kit in hand. “Something to keep me entertained.”

“What, stitches aren’t riveting enough for you?” Juno returned, pretending his voice wasn't trembling like a leaf.

“Just talk to me, darling,” Ransom grimaced. 

“Hold still,” Juno replied in a tone that was no less grave. 

Even as he sat upon the bed at Ransom’s side, his motions were calculated, each as small and delicate as he could manage. Some illogical part of him feared that shifting the mattress too much might cause Ransom excess pain, though, if it had done so, Ransom showed no sign of it.

“I’m going to undo your shirt,” he prefaced before his hands could even rise to Ransom’s already undone collar.

“I’m not going to stop you,” he choked in return.

“Alright, here we go,” Juno said in lieu of warning as his hands began to inch down the ladder of his button down. “I’ve got a painkiller in the first aid kit, so once I get this off, I’ll get that for you, and everything’s gonna be okay. You still wanna hear about my research or not?”

Ransom managed a wiry laugh and nodded.

“Until I can get my hands on the painkiller, I’m afraid your expertise will have to sedate me,” he joked, though his voice shook too badly for it to land.

“Well, that artifact in your bag belonged to a certain group of people called the Martians. Long story why,” Juno snorted, then quickly swallowed at the sight of the mess of blood creeping up the fabric of Ransom’s shirt. He persevered anyway, walking down the buttons one by one and gradually revealing inch after inch of shaking, heaving chest. 

“I assume you study them?” Ransom tried to ask, though his voice caught when Juno pressed a rag to the wound. 

“Shut up, you’re gonna get yourself hurt,” Juno huffed. “Yeah. I’ve been working on those inscriptions on that map for years. I’ve got my running theories for what it means and where it’s pointing, but I think the curator would be quicker to fire me than believe it.”

“Map?”

“It’s stupid,” Juno sighed, though his words caught when Ransom took him by the hand.

Ransom’s grasp wasn’t the pained desperation of before, but rather, a gentle touch, intended to make him pause and consider himself for a moment. The thief’s other hand knotted itself into the bedsheets to stifle his agony, though the other was purposefully light. It seemed, in the brushing of their fingers together, he merely wanted comfort, rather than something to hold onto.

“It’s not stupid if you care about it, Juno,” he said as gently as he could. “Tell me, my dear.”

“There’s a bit of an argument about the interpretation, but whatever this artifact leads to, it’s supposed to be something big,” Juno explained, the words beginning to quell the knot in his stomach that had formed at the sight of blood. “Essentially, a lot of people believe the last thing the Martians ever did before they disappeared was build something with a hell of a lot of value and wall it up somewhere. There’s a lot more unexplored jungle than you’d think in the world, but I think I know a patch that might be about right.”

“You said they—” Ransom swallowed when Juno’s touch faded, making way for an inspection of the wound instead. “Vanished?”

“Yeah. No sign of a war or famine or anything,” Juno continued. “The stories say that whatever that last thing they were working on probably had something to do with all of it, but nobody’s ever found anything.”

Juno glanced up, a smile ready on his face and relief washing over him when he recognized the wound in Ransom’s side as merely a scrape, albeit a deep one. However, Ransom had gone white, face slack in its graveness and hand limp where it lay atop Juno’s. 

“Ransom?” Juno called, albeit gently. “Did I do something?”

“Dear God,” he breathed, eyes still unblinking at a patch of wall behind Juno’s head. “Juno, do you believe that artifact is the only way to find that—”

“Easy,” Juno cut him off when his words started to run towards a sprint. “We’ll have time to worry about ghost stories when you’re not bleeding out on me, alright?”

Ransom swallowed and nodded.

“Am I—” he began to ask, words falling away when Juno smiled.

“Just a scrape,” he returned. “Not a pretty one, but still just a scrape. I don’t even have to take out a bullet.”

“Thank God,” Ransom breathed, his head falling back against the headboard as if fixing the ceiling with a haggard smile. “You are a miracle worker, Juno Steel.”

“I’ll take credit if you want me to, but I think that’s more up to your friend’s bad aim,” Juno snorted. 

He gave his fingers a parting squeeze when he turned his attention back to the first aid kit, returning to press a painkiller into Ransom’s hand. Juno did his best to ignore the drying brick colored stain that marked where Ransom had clutched to his injury, though when the hand closed around the pill, the thief saved him the trouble.

“I’m gonna finish cleaning you up and then get some bandages,” he explained as Ransom downed the medication. 

Juno stood to dampen one of his still-clean rags, though Ransom stopped him, his hand laying gingerly atop Juno’s wrist before he could leave. 

“Peter Nureyev,” he said slowly, as if the syllables were unpracticed upon his tongue. 

“What?”

“My name, Juno,” Nureyev managed to smile. “Treat it as a gift. I don’t give it out often.”

Juno merely nodded, unsure of the weight of this seemingly precious thing he now held in his hands. However, with a job on his mind, he decided to worry about it later. In the meantime, he had rags to dampen and a still-bleeding fugitive in his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woohoo!!!! slowburn whomst?
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below!!
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no boulders yet but we're getting there folks hang in there
> 
> Content warnings for injury, blood, mid to heavy pain medication

Juno had been in enough fights growing up to know how to dress a wound. Maybe his childhood had been on a different continent where every season looked and smelled and tasted different than the constant ache of desert upon his tongue, but it had a way of rushing back to him as he wrapped the last of his bandages around Peter Nureyev’s waist and lulled him into sedation with stories of digs and artifacts and ancient linguistics.

Nonetheless, his brother liked to haunt every shadow of those stories, for the two of them had shared their fascination as children. Juno had picked his first book on archaeology off the shelf because Benten had heard about the Martians from a friend from school. 

They had planned to go off to college together, back when the future seemed infinite. 

Juno swallowed down the thought when one of his spare touches made Nureyev grimace and he dragged his mind kicking and screaming back to the present.

“There you go,” he finally sighed upon tucking in the final strand. 

“There,” Nureyev chuckled. “Now you’ve mummified me.”

“That’s not how it works, genius,” Juno snorted, though he couldn’t pretend the smile across Nureyev’s face made him feel any worse. He could only assume the painkiller was beginning to kick in. 

“Juno,” Nureyev began after a moment, pausing Juno before he could lean away and clean off his hands in the perpetually reeking water that came from the bathroom sink. “Am I correct in saying this medication will do away with a good portion of my composure?”

“It’s a two way ticket to the clouds, Nureyev,” Juno explained. 

“Then it’s important that I tell you this before you go anywhere for too long,” he pressed.

Juno had weathered enough first aid kit painkillers to know that Nureyev stood in a strange limbo between pain and the headiness of the pill. For a few moments, he might walk the line of consciousness, feeling no pain and yet, thinking clearly. As much as Juno wanted to stick his bloodied hands under the faucet as if they had been burned, he felt he had to respect Nureyev’s last-ditch attempt to grasp the waking world by the horns.

“Hit me,” he shrugged.

“I was sent to steal a series of artifacts related to the one within my satchel by an employer by the name of Miasma. I’m unsure if you know of her, but—”

Juno raised an eyebrow.

“Jeez, I thought she was dead,” he breathed. “She’s one of the biggest anthropologists in my field, but she probably hasn’t published a paper in what—five years, now?”

“Exactly as long as I’ve been in her employ, Juno,” Nureyev clarified. “She’s been hunting a strange series of artifacts, and unlike myself, does not care to keep any innocent bystanders alive. For now, she is unaware that I’ve started to undermine some of her other contractors, though I believe it is only a matter of time until she finds out.”

“Were those—”

“The other thieves in the museum were sent to retrieve the artifact and kill anyone who saw them do it,” Nureyev grimaced. “It was my own assignment until I claimed the death of my father dragged me away from my work for some time.”

“So you think she’s after whatever this map leads to?”

Nureyev squeezed his hand in certainty. 

“I know she is,” he returned gravely. “I think it’s important that you know she refers to it as ‘the weapon.’”

“Shit,” Juno breathed.

“Exactly.”

“And I’m gonna guess if she had you going for other artifacts, this isn’t the only one that can get you where you need to go?” Juno posited.

“That was precisely my fear,” Nureyev sighed. “I think it would be unfair of me to ask for your help, but I do think it is fairest of me to make you aware of what situation I have managed to drag you into the midst of.”

“So you’re gonna try to find the weapon first, right?”

“What?”

“Well, there’s enough of a trail out there about where the weapon might be that you can’t just get rid of the instructions. If a homicidal anthropologist is after a weapon and will stop at nothing to find it, it’s probably best to just find it and destroy it first,” Juno explained.

Nureyev opened his mouth, then shut it.

“You do raise a fair point.”

“And there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go alone,” Juno added quickly, pretending his heart hadn’t begun to pound at twice the regular speed at the thought of getting on a plane and soaring far from his soul-crushing desk job side by side with the gentleman thief who had a nasty habit of holding his hand. “You can’t even read the map.”

“Juno, I would hate for you to get injured on my behalf,” Nureyev protested.

“Says the guy I just finished bandaging up,” Juno snorted. “Face it. You need an anthropologist, and I’ve got the coordinates on a map in my kitchen.”

Nureyev sighed. 

“Fine. Once I’ve secured us passage out of Cairo, I’ll make sure I save you a ticket,” he smiled, as if conceding to a debate. As much as his expression was a joking one, dragged gradually away from gravity as the medication began to weigh on him, Juno felt a little burst of triumph in his chest nonetheless.

“You’d better,” Juno returned. “I’m gonna go get cleaned up. You’d better not go anywhere while I’m up. I’m not redoing your bandages if you rip something open.”

“Whatever the doctor orders,” Nureyev smiled, his touch lingering on Juno’s hand for as long as it could manage when Juno turned to leave the room. 

Juno thought he heard a sound like a freight train coming to a stop when he strode into the bathroom, though it might have been his imagination. However, he could clearly picture Nureyev sighing the weight of the world off his shoulders as the master thief who had left Miasma’s goons quaking in their boots found himself incapacitated and injured on the bed of a near stranger.

Juno stuck his hands under the faucet in an attempt to scrub the blood off, though it felt like a futile effort next to the stains on his white button down and what had formerly been one of his favorite skirts. After a moment of disappointment, he shook his head and forced his thoughts back to the soapy cloth on his skin. 

He didn’t have any reason to trust Nureyev. He didn’t even know if he was telling the truth. However, something about him, between the roll of niceties from his tongue or the way he had lingered and longed for touch in such a painfully human way, made Juno’s heart skip one beat too many. Juno prayed Nureyev just fell into a category of particularly trustworthy people, rather than someone so adept at acting that he had already learned to play Juno like a fiddle. 

Juno tried to shake the thought away, for he doubted anyone so addled by pain and medication could come up with so elaborate a lie. Besides, if this apparent master thief had truly handed over his name in exchange for his life, it seemed he had already put his trust in Juno. It was only fair for Juno to return the favor.

His uncertainty died in his chest when he returned to the bedroom, button down and skirt disposed of and replaced by an old pink robe he had bought when he had been far younger and far more optimistic about anyone ever seeing it. Nureyev too had changed, replacing his flirtatious professionalism with a loose and lazy grin.

“Wearing something nice for me, my dear?” He mused, words shaking with a laugh.

“Just something without your blood on it,” Juno snorted, though he took a seat on the bed at Nureyev’s side nonetheless. He tried to tell himself it was because he had no other chair in the room and felt it unkind to leave Nureyev alone, though he wasn’t dumb enough to believe his own excuse. 

“It’s lovely, darling,” Nureyev insisted. “I’ve been meaning to get one for myself, though I seldom have a chance to show it off.”

“Really? I assumed you were a lady killer,” Juno teased. 

“‘Lady’ singular,” Nureyev chuckled.

“Oh?” Juno humored him, trying to pretend he didn’t feel at least a little disappointed. “Married?”

“No,” Nureyev returned resolutely. “There’s just a certain lady I wouldn’t mind killing, at least in the Shakespearean sense.”

“I can’t tell if you’re propositioning me or threatening to bake me into a pie,” Juno snorted. 

“My words have escaped me tonight, Juno,” Nureyev huffed. “Do forgive me if you were ever under the impression that I might do you harm. That is, unless you—”

“Got it,” Juno cut him off before Nureyev could lay a bigger landmine of embarrassing memories for his usual self to wake up to. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Heaven,” Nureyev mused. “I’m in heaven.”

“Glad to hear it,” Juno chuckled. “What do you say to getting some sleep before you end up there for real?”

Nureyev sighed as if Juno’s suggestion had been cruel. He wrapped an arm around Juno’s shoulder and leaned, his head trying and failing to bury itself somewhere between the crook of Juno’s neck and his chest. 

“Someone’s friendly,” Juno smiled, though what usually would have been a complaint came out a friendly jibe instead. 

Nureyev merely yawned, tongue curling like that of a housecat, then wrapped his arms around Juno’s waist in the gentlest attempt at a tackle Juno had ever been witness to. Peter largely just put his weight on Juno’s chest until he could cling to his side like a koala, head overtop Juno’s heart.

“You keep your apartment so cold, darling,” he yawned again.

“We’re in a desert, Nureyev,” Juno snorted. “Hate to state the obvious, but it gets kinda cold at night.”

“Spare me the sarcasm, dear,” he murmured into the front of Juno’s robe. “I’m terribly injured, and you’re making fun of me.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’d be doing the same?”

“I would, darling, but that’s of no matter,” Nureyev chuckled, low and sweet and a little less controlled than Juno thought he would ever let the rest of the world see. “I’m cold and wounded, and you’re warm and willing to put up with me.”

A strange part of Juno clenched at the sound of Nureyev’s laugh, and for a moment, Juno was convinced he would do anything if it meant hearing such a sound again. He pushed the thought aside, reminding himself that the niceties were borne from the medication as much as they were appreciation or what genuine connection two people could form over the course of a few hours spent together in crisis.

Juno didn’t realize he had forgotten to reply until Nureyev’s breathing slowed into something softer and gentler that Juno recognized as sleep. 

“There you go,” he heard himself smile. 

Even if it was far beyond his better judgement, which screamed from its lonely island within his mind that he shouldn’t develop feelings for anyone with a dangerous smile and two revolvers he was all too quick to draw, Juno began to run a hand through his dark and silky hair. Ignoring his better judgement was not difficult. For the time being, Peter Nureyev could not hurt him, and a part of Juno doubted that upon waking, he would want to. 

Nureyev sighed in his sleep, subconsciously recognizing Juno’s touch. The part of Juno that remembered how it felt the first time his world was snatched away in the form of a tombstone with his brother’s name and nineteen years worth of birthdays carved into it told him not to get attached. Plenty of terrible people also didn’t want weapons in the hands of people like Miasma. Juno was sure there were thieves and bandits and murderers alike who would be willing to put their necks on the line to save the world from her success. 

However, Peter Nureyev looked so much gentler when he was asleep. He sighed occasionally, especially when Juno’s nails passed over a certain spot upon his scalp. He held tight around Juno’s chest as if it were a lifeline. Perhaps he wouldn’t remember that evening when he awoke. Perhaps he would, and perhaps it would mortify him. 

For the time being, Juno pretended that he didn’t need to worry about it. He didn’t doubt he was just as tired as the criminal who made a pillow of his chest, and after a long moment spent debating the matter, allowed himself to slip towards sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL YEAH SNUGGLES!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below!
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO!! more yearning
> 
> Content warnings for blood, injury mention

Juno Steel awoke to an empty bed the next morning, as if Peter Nureyev had merely been some pleasant dream that had visited him by evening and been swept away by the sandman before the day could dawn.

His initial instinct was to wipe the memories of the previous day from his eyes before he could even allow his heart to finish sinking. Of course, the visitor of the night before had to be some figment of his imagination. There was no way in hell such a strange series of events could intertwine with his life and work and interests.

Juno had almost decided that no such handsome stranger had visited him until he saw the bloodstained rag at his bedside and a note upon his nightstand.

As if grasping at strands of those pleasant dreams that liked to desert him the moment he awoke, Juno seized the note in both hands, fighting the blurriness of his eyes and the faint light of the dawn through his curtains to make out what the loopy handwriting had so lovingly traced across the paper.

“Juno, my dear,” the letter began. Juno pretended his heart didn’t skip a beat upon reading it. “It breaks my heart to have left you alone in such a manner, especially after intruding upon your hospitality. I promise, I will come back for you soon. For the time being, I think it is best if I keep myself in motion. By the time you read this, I will likely be in my third hotel room in twenty four hours, and likely, under my fourth alias. Know, darling, that my only true name is the one I gave to you.”

Juno felt his breath catch in his throat. He blinked several times and reread the first paragraph, just to ensure he hadn’t misunderstood the tone of the letter.

“I hope to see you again soon,” the letter continued. “This absence weighs on me already, and I have merely left your side to search for a paper and pen. Any and all correspondence will come in the form of a letter slipped under the door of your apartment. Otherwise, I bid you good day and hope you go about it safely. While I am still nearby, my former comrades are as well. Ensure you are home by dusk, and if you are to, perhaps, meet a certain gentleman by evening, be prepared to dress unlike yourself and treat him as your husband. I believe it to be safest.”

Juno tried not to think about the implications of the “love” preceding Peter Nureyev’s signature at the bottom of the page. He tried not to think about the way the note had made his heart hammer in his chest and his mind spin, as if taken over by the scent of the cologne Nureyev had clearly spritzed the letter with before laying it at Juno’s bedside. However, when it came to prying his mind away from gentleman like Peter Nureyev, Juno was a very weak individual.

In some vain effort to continue going about his day as instructed, Juno managed to pry himself from the bed and make his way over to the bathroom mirror for his makeup. However, the ghost of Peter Nureyev’s arms around him continued to haunt his every waking moment, and they did not relent when he caught his own reflection in the looking glass.

A ruby red lipstick kiss had been left upon his forehead. Juno ran a finger over the mark, unable to help a smile when he recognized that he owned no such shade of lipstick. It seemed the artifact, left atop Juno’s bathroom counter, had not been Peter Nureyev’s only parting gift. 

The remainder of his day seemed to take a week, between getting chewed out by the curator for a crime he had no hand in and the knowledge that any moment, perhaps Peter Nureyev had slipped another thinly veiled love letter beneath his door. 

Juno wasn’t smitten. He just liked the idea of the chance to speak with Nureyev again, and regardless, the letter would mean an end to his nebulous anxieties about the rogue anthropologist and her intentions. 

Peter Nureyev seemed to cling to the rest of Juno’s day, even if he was not there in person. The curator had spared Juno’s job because of a very substantial check from an unnamed benefactor who donated it on the condition that no employees be fired for the remainder of the year. The curator, of course, had not been one to turn down a gift, and made the tentative decision to spare Juno his wrath.

Juno managed to hide most of his external research as work for the curator. Thumbing through the titles of Miasma’s publications showed a general focus on the so-called Egg of Purus, which she believed to be some kind of doomsday weapon, at least on enough of a scale to wipe out the Martians. Though odd jobs for the curator slowed him down, Juno managed to get a basic picture for her theory of the story.

He had heard that Miasma’s theory was a bit fringe, enough so that she managed to be largely rejected from the anthropological community for it. However, with the memory of the grave look on Nureyev’s face when he said she was willing to kill for each piece of evidence, Juno felt his own prejudices towards her publications begin to crack.

Her theory towards the Egg of Purus sounded fairly compliant with what Nureyev had told him. She believed it to be some sort of complex bomb that left DNA unraveled and particles thrown to shreds, and though it had not entirely destroyed Martian society, it had left too few to persist for more than a dozen years after the weapon’s use. She posited that what remained of Martian society were warnings and directions to the Egg of Purus, which was walled within some structure yet to be discovered. 

Juno had to admit, it sounded pretty stupid. However, the piece fell a little too neatly into place to be discarded.

He took Nureyev’s advice and took the second half of the day off. When the curator tried to berate him, he merely showed off all the blood he couldn’t quite get out of his nails and went on his merry way.

Juno couldn’t even pretend not to scramble to get the door open and check for a note slipped underneath, for his heart leapt when he saw his apartment not only intact and the artifact still in place, but a sealed envelope on the floor as well. 

“My darling Dahlia Rose,” the letter began. “Use that name when you meet me at five at the restaurant across the street and two buildings north of your own. Bring the artifact with you, as well as clothing and supplies for a journey of up to a week. I’ve packed sufficient survival materials for the both of us, but I entreat you, please prepare for a potentially unpleasant trip, no matter how kind the company. Meet me as if you were meeting your husband for dinner.”

Juno paused to squint at the signature, for it looked far more practiced than the genuine name with which Nureyev had signed the note now folded in Juno’s breast pocket.

“Love, your husband, Duke Rose.”

“Duke Rose,” Juno said aloud, and almost laughed. Of course, Nureyev would pick such an alias for himself. 

If Juno were a little prouder, he would have spent far less time in front of a mirror ensuring the line of his lipstick curved at exactly the right angle and popped exactly the right shade of mauve against the whites and blacks and tans of an outfit he felt a lady might wear to a pleasant dinner with his husband. However, perhaps Dahlia Rose was the kind of lady who would take that much time before a date. 

After another hour or so spent throwing anything he could think to throw into a suitcase that looked subtle enough to be a briefcase, he finally found himself somewhere between satisfied and exasperated. Regardless, he knew he couldn’t do anything more to pack a bag for an unplanned trip he hadn’t even told his boss about. 

He supposed he could chalk it up to shock or an injury from running, but something in the promise of a plane and the answer to the riddle he thought he had wasted his life on was enticing enough for such things to slip his mind. Perhaps, this was something alike to freedom. 

While Juno Steel had always been the type for gowns, he assumed Dahlia Rose wouldn’t exactly dress the same as him. He tried to weave his wardrobe into something opulent, though when that failed, he settled for classy. As much as Dahlia Rose sounded like the fake name of a lady of the oldest profession, it didn’t hurt to imagine that he might dress a little nice for a date with his husband. Juno certainly would. Juno would definitely dress a little nicer for a date with Dahlia’s husband. 

Juno wasn’t entirely sure how Nureyev would greet him, though a smile and a wave from an outdoor seat was enough to give him a moment to mentally prepare.

His hours spent on hair and makeup and exactly what kind of dress Dahlia Rose would wear seemed like far less of a waste when he caught sight of Nureyev and felt the air knocked out of his lungs on sight. 

As well as Peter Nureyev could wear bandages and bloodstains, he could wear the hell out of a suit. Every seam looked tailored to the quarter inch, while the pale pink and cream and gold refused to do anything but shimmer in the dying light of the day. Looking upon Duke Rose was not too different to looking upon a sunset, though Juno couldn’t remember a single withering day that had caused him to freeze with his jaw dropped in the middle of a public street. 

Nureyev rushed to his aid with a smile and a wave.

“Dahlia, dearest!” He called, nodding Juno over. “I’ve reserved a table for the two of us. Outside, if you don’t mind.”

Juno made his way over as fast as his heels and the diameter of his skirt would allow him, thanking his lucky stars that he had packed more convenient clothes within the suitcase in his hand. That suitcase hit the ground when Nureyev stood from the little outdoor table for two and seized his arms around Juno in an embrace, as if their day apart had been years. 

“Easy, Duke,” Juno joked.

“Nonsense,” Nureyev beamed, arms still around Juno in something akin to a lover’s dip when he managed to pry his chin from atop Juno’s shoulder. “It’s not every day a man’s wife comes home from his business trip. I’d say I’m allowed to celebrate.” 

Juno had expected a few extra touches, perhaps to hands and shoulders and faces, if he was lucky. He had expected their parody of marriage to be a quiet one, alike to a pair of people who loved each other very much, but were used to the sensation by now.

He hadn’t banked on a kiss.

Juno wasn’t sure his feet were touching the ground, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He was up in the stratosphere with Peter Nureyev, whose lips were as soft as they were clever and whose dazzling smile only shone brighter when viewed from a few inches away. 

“Nureyev,” Juno heard himself gasp, quiet enough that the moment was theirs and theirs alone.

“I needed to hide my face, my dear,” Nureyev hissed, nodding towards an all-too familiar pair of men walking down the street past their table. “I’m so sorry if I overstepped.” 

“I—“ Juno choked out while Nureyev led him into his seat. “I’d like you to do that again sometime. If that’s okay with you.”

“As many times as you’d like, Dahlia dearest,” Nureyev beamed. 

Juno knew it was stupid, but he felt like he could get used to Duke and Dahlia Rose. Maybe he was just lonely or touch starved or a hopeless romantic, but the setting sun shone in Peter Nureyev’s eyes like water sparkling on a lake. Even with the sky right behind him, Juno couldn’t find any part of him that wanted to turn around. Looking upon the face that was sharp and soft and cruel and gentle and an enigma and an old best friend all at once was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

He didn’t love Peter Nureyev, he told himself, for it would be impossible to do so after so few hours in each other's company. Juno could ignore his complicated bouquet of feelings for the time being, especially with so much of the future to focus on. They had a week to plan and a world to save, and hell, Juno had a job to get back to when all of it was over. 

The part of him that wanted to drop his life and run away with Peter Nureyev to wherever the world’s winds blew them was usually easy to quiet. However, feeling emboldened by the glowing smile across Nureyev’s face and the feeling of their hands linking together across the table, Juno seemed to have trouble getting it to silence itself for the time being. 

It wouldn’t hurt, perhaps, to indulge a kind thought or two before he left to save the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAHOO!! it's being soft for juno being soft for nureyev hours
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill yearn in your general direction
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW MORE BONDING
> 
> Content warnings for nausea/vomiting mention (second to last line in a passing joke about air travel)

“So,” Juno finally began when the sun had dipped a little lower and Nureyev had finished checking both of their drinks for at least three types of poison. “Duke and Dahlia Rose, huh?”

“You’re making fun of me,” Nureyev scoffed, though a smile crept its way across his face nonetheless.

“What, did you expect something else?” Juno snorted.

“Touche,” Nureyev sighed. “As lovely as it is to taste test aliases with you, dear, I’m afraid I can only avoid business for so long. Duke and Dahlia Rose are the names on all of my travel documentation, should my attempts to acquire a plane of our own go awry.”

Juno choked on his water.

“What the hell do you mean, a plane of our own?”

“A very old—” Nureyev broke off to allow his expression a moment to sour. “Acquaintance of mine knew me by the alias Duke Rose. If I am to secure us a flight as quickly and accurately as we may need, he may be the only man who is able to help us.”

“You mean a biplane though, right?” Juno interjected before he could do anything more than open his mouth to explain further.

“Of course,” Nureyev smiled easily, though it twitched when Juno’s face refused to budge from the wide-eyed horror staring over his drink. “Don’t tell me you’ll have an issue with that.”

“It’s just kinda high up, and—”

“It’s a plane, Juno,” he huffed, though not unkindly. “I’ll hold your hand the entire time, if that’s what you require. My, you are a delicate thing.”

“Shut up,” Juno groaned.

“I’ve elected to kindly refuse, if that’s alright with you,” Peter chuckled, though, as if to prove his point, he gave Juno’s hand an extra squeeze across the table. “I’m sure you’ll manage. I’ve been told I fly well for an amateur.”

“You sound like a man of many talents,” Juno snorted.

“More than you could ever know, darling.”

Juno raised an eyebrow. 

“Any notable ones I should know about before I sign off on a week alone with a career criminal?” Juno asked, almost positive that the question had come from the corner of his mind that liked to stick its hand into the guts of every nice thing he came across and twist.

If Nureyev was offended, he showed no sign of it, merely continuing to light up the table with a smile that somehow dazzled even more by dark. However, half his face remained in shadow where the dying sun and the flickering candle had not cast darkness off of it. The shifty light seemed to draw the lines of his face a little sharper and every dark mark a little deeper. For a moment, Juno almost didn’t recognize the man sitting across from him. A shadow of something tugged at the corner of his mouth. Juno would have missed it altogether if he hadn’t already been searching Nureyev’s face for some sign of a lie.

Juno remembered the lipstick stain upon his forehead as well as he remembered just how alive Peter Nureyev had looked with a pair of pistols pinning two henchmen to the wall. Even if Nureyev had decided to put his trust in Juno out of convenience, or, as Juno pretended not to hope, something more, that trust was still a delicate thing. 

The man who pretended to be his husband had already betrayed his employer once, so Juno had to assume, for his own safety, that he would continue to act in his own self-interest. Juno could only pray that self-interest overlapped with his own, and that, in squeezing his fingers across the table, Peter Nureyev was reassuring him, rather than placing his hand atop a pawn to keep it from squirming away to another square.

He wanted to trust Nureyev. He wanted to pretend it didn’t seem awfully convenient to meet for a romantic sunset dinner as husband and wife and to kiss when Nureyev said he needed to hide his face. This would be an awfully easy way for someone to play him for a fool, especially when offering him the answers to a career’s worth of questions on a silver platter.

Juno wasn’t dumb enough to think Peter Nureyev was a man without a skeleton or two in his closet, though he was dumb enough to hope he regretted whatever dark secret had twisted behind his face. Skeletons didn’t always mean someone was unforgivable. Maybe, just this once, life would make an excuse for someone so Juno wouldn’t have to.

Nureyev shook his head and smiled, as if Juno’s question had been a simple one.

“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear accomplice,” he chuckled. “Just some light domestic terrorism on my resume. Nothing that should concern you.”

“What?”

Nureyev laughed a little too hard.

“You’re too much, Dahlia!” He cried as if his wife had stricken him with the funniest joke he had heard in weeks. “Just some light humor, I assure you. Any other insecurities I can massage before we depart?”

Juno opened his mouth, but closed it when he felt the dam between his mind and his mouth begin to crack. 

“No,” he finally decided after a moment too long waiting.

“Wonderful,” Nureyev smiled, and gave his hand another squeeze for good measure. “Now, dear, as sparse as the company is, I would rather discuss certain details with you in the car, if that’s to your taste.”

“Tell me, Rose,” Juno started, his voice finally deciding to agree with him and at least attempt to sound joking. He pretended his heart didn’t leap at the beam he received for using Nureyev’s alias in conversation. “Do you drive as well as you fly?”

“Far worse, I assure you,” Nureyev returned loftily.

“I’m gonna die here, aren’t I?” Juno sighed.

“At this restaurant? No,” Peter shrugged. “Sometime soon, perhaps, though I do believe our chances of survival will rapidly increase the further we get from this particular location. As much as I would love to spend the remainder of my life having candlelit dinners with Juno Steel, I would much rather the remainder of my life be more than the next twenty minutes.”

“Do I get to know where you’re taking me before I’m never seen again?” Juno snorted.

“Testy, are we?” Nureyev huffed, though his glance up from the check he had begun to fill out suggested his words carried an affectionate air. “If I broke your heart by leaving you this morning, you have my sincerest apologies, though I did try to do so in as kind a way as possible.”

Juno shook his head.

“Just—” he broke off. “Look, I’m gonna be blunt. Not a big fan of the whole running away with a career criminal thing.”

“Even one who pays for your dinner?” Nureyev sighed, though his joke fell away from his lips when he noticed Juno wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah, actually.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, though decided better of it after a moment. He stood and offered Juno an arm, and even though Juno could still feel the blooming glare upon his forehead, he couldn’t find it within him to refuse the gesture.

“Why don’t we discuss this further once we’ve walked to my vehicle?” Nureyev murmured, though he chuckled and beamed as if his suggestion had been a far different one. 

It struck Juno to attempt to act as well when Peter led him past a few other occupied dining tables, at which point he allowed himself to trip and stumble a little closer into the man pretending to be his husband. He then forced a laugh, as if the wine and company and taste of the evening air were all going to his head. All the while, he sought in vain for so much of a flicker of dishonesty in the shatteringly domestic look he received in return.

Nureyev never walked him into a back alley or the sights of one of those cruel pistols, one of which Juno had noticed within a pocket of his jacket. In fact, he seemed to wrestle the look of domesticity off his face by force, as if Duke Rose was reluctant to be done away with and pushed to a back corner of his mind.

When he finally reached the car, which Juno could only pray wasn’t stolen, he held Juno’s door open like a valet. For a moment, something not unlike sunlight gleaming off a lake flickered in his eye, and something alike to guilt flickered in Juno’s chest in return.

“Now,” Nureyev finally sighed upon taking his seat behind the driver’s seat. “If you have questions to ask, I suppose it is best that we ask them in privacy, though I’m afraid my contact will prefer our company if it earlier in the evening. We should be leaving as soon as possible.”

Juno caught him by the shoulder before he could even reach for the steering wheel. 

“We’re not going anywhere until you answer a few questions,” he snapped, perhaps a little too harshly.

“Juno,” Nureyev huffed, though his exasperation quickly twisted into guilt upon his face. “If this is about this kiss, I apologize if I misinterpreted the situation, though I was quite honest in saying I needed to hide my face.”

Juno opened his mouth to retort, though when he found no words that matched the anxious pounding of his heart in his throat, he went quiet.

“Juno?” Nureyev repeated when he realized he had been silent for far too long.

“Oh,” he sputtered in reply. “Not the kiss. I liked the kiss.”

“I hoped I hadn’t misread your hospitality,” Nureyev smiled. “What else is the matter?”

“Look,” he sighed. “Everything you’ve told me fits, but that doesn’t mean I can verify everything for sure. I think I’d just feel better if you try to keep the surprises to a minimum.”

“And that would make you most comfortable?”

Juno nodded, trying to pretend the weight of mistrust upon his shoulders hadn’t fallen with such comedic speed. A pair of competing Nureyevs existed within his mind, one injured and clingy and pressing wine red kisses to his forehead, while the other beamed and cackled when staring at a henchman down the barrel of his gun. The man who buried his name and had bloodied his hands for Juno’s sake looked a little kinder after the dusk, somehow, as if the darkness from the car windows had provided him a little more anonymity, and with it, slightly more comfort.

As little as Juno wanted to admit it, the man in the car mixed a little too well with his memories of the one he had bandaged the night before. He was a little too polite to distrust and a little too gentle to hate. He was all too considerate for Juno to continue believing he was entirely malicious.

“Wonderful,” Nureyev returned gently. “Speaking of which, I’ll be driving north for approximately twenty kilometers to the casino of Brock Engstrom, with whom I worked on a heist when I had fewer options for better company. I’m going to attempt to borrow a plane, and if that goes poorly, I am going to attempt to steal one.”

“Fewer options for better company, huh? What the hell do you call this, then?”

“Having no options, dear,” Peter teased.

“Hey!”

Nureyev merely laughed. Even if he was enclosed in a car that had barely begun to move down a street that was gradually emptying with the oncoming of eveningtide, he beamed as if the open road before him were a pathway he had paved by hand. He might as well be standing atop a conquered mountain or leaned over the prow of a ship, carving his way through the world as if it were his alone to mold. Juno didn’t doubt a man without a name who walked so lightly he never seemed to leave footprints could live that way. Peter could pick up a new identity with his groceries every week and just run, leaving his ghosts behind in the dust.

Juno was almost jealous.

“I will warn you,” Nureyev began after the seconds spent in the car had begun to drag into minutes. “The man Engstrom knew as Duke Rose is far different than myself. I often try to throw a dart when creating my aliases, if you’ll forgive the metaphor, and Duke Rose is a bit of a hopeless romantic.”

“So what are you telling me for?”

“My documentation says you’re my wife, though I doubt Engstrom will require it,” Peter continued. “If you’re more comfortable, say, posing as my brother—”

“No,” Juno cut him off all too quickly, barely having the chance to feel the shattering of embarrassment at his overeagerness before he could clear his throat. “For consistency, I mean. I don’t mind acting married with you.”

“Perfect,” Nureyev chuckled. “I was beginning to suspect you secretly enjoyed it.”

“Not so secretly,” Juno snorted. “You think I let every injured bastard off the street sleep in my bed?”

“Did we—” Nureyev broke off, jaw having suddenly fallen slack.

“No, you fell asleep on my chest and used me as a pillow all night,” Juno chuckled. “I did some first aid and gave you a two-way ticket to la la land, then you tried to cuddle your way into my pants, got tired halfway through, gave up, and fell asleep.”

“Oh, dear God, I’m sorry,” Nureyev breathed. 

“It was cute,” Juno teased.

“I am not cute,” Peter protested, though the smile playing at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “I am a master thief, Juno. A career criminal. I am not cute.”

“Did you know you’ve got a strand of hair that curls in a ringlet on the back of your neck?” Juno blurted out.

“I’ve spent my entire life in combat with it, yes,” Nureyev sighed. “What, do you find my lapses in appearance—” 

Nureyev broke off to wince. Juno’s laugh filled in the gap.

“Cute?” He supplied.

“Yes,” Nureyev huffed.

“Yeah,” Juno snorted. “If that’s what you wanna call them.” 

“Do you intend to spend your entire time as my wife tormenting me?” Nureyev groaned, as if entreating God to save him from the lady within his passenger seat.

“I dunno, I’ll probably have to take a break or two to help you get that plane so you can get used to the smell of my puke,” Juno wrinkled his nose.

“Good,” Peter smiled, glancing back at the road for long enough to put the car in park. “I’d suggest you begin acting like it immediately. If Mister Engstrom recognizes this car, he’ll have a table for us already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohO? is this mistrusting rivals to lovers? in my fic? more likely than youd think
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill eat your kneecaps
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw this gets Spicy
> 
> Content warnings for alcohol mention, gun violence, gambling

“How the hell do you know my ring size?”

“Dahlia, dearest, you would be shocked at how many times I’ve done this before,” Nureyev chuckled, though it seemed even his voice had changed when he noticed their car had not been the only one parked outside.

“How long am I gonna have to put up with Duke Rose for?” Juno huffed. He did his best to pretend the ceremony and reverence with which Nureyev slid the ring onto his finger annoyed him, though Juno knew he had never been a particularly good actor. 

“If all goes well, hopefully only a few hours,” Nureyev mused.

“Hours?” He groaned.

“It depends on how much time you would like to put between now and the minute Miasma drops that bomb, Juno, but I would rather not waste it bickering in the car.”

Juno opened his mouth to reply, but Nureyev had already fixed him with the kind of million dollar smile he just couldn’t say no to and he turned to follow once Nureyev had gotten out of the car.

Nureyev rushed around his door first, pulling it open with pride and adoration so woven into his stance and smile and gestures that Juno would have thought he had spent his entire life waiting to reveal Dahlia Rose to the world. Even if the only onlookers Juno saw were a handful of drunk patrons stumbling their way out of the front door, he couldn’t help a swell of warmth in his chest nonetheless.

It was nice to be held up and loudly, publicly, and unabashedly cherished. With Nureyev’s smile dazzling brighter than any of the lights trying to imitate him from the marquee of the Oasis Hotel and Casino, Juno almost let himself enjoy it. 

Juno was fairly sure the Oasis Casino would have looked a little more impressive had Nureyev, or rather, Juno’s husband, Duke Rose, not been on his arm. The pale pink suit Juno had appreciated at sunset seemed made for the sodium lights of the Casino’s interior. Duke Rose dazzled, as if in his element. In a way, Juno supposed he was existing just as he’d been created to exist, though the difference in the poise and vocal tone and even the smile in the man on his arm was uncanny. 

On occasion, however, particularly when Juno muttered a snarky comment or two about another patron they were walking past, Rose would force himself to quiet a laugh that would never have crossed the alias’s lips. Juno recognized Nureyev’s chuckle as much as he recognized Duke Rose trying to fight it down and away. 

In a sense, the cracks in the alias made him feel better. He was also pretty sure they were making him act better too, for Juno hadn’t realized how smitten Dahlia Rose had looked until he caught sight of himself in a gold-tinged mirror. 

“Who the hell are we looking for?” Juno hissed into Nureyev’s ear. 

Nureyev took him by the arm to justify their closeness and let out a laugh that Juno didn’t recognize.

“You’re too much, Dahlia!” He beamed, leaning into his wife for support from the joke he had evidently just told, rather than anything that might have sounded suspicious. “Mister Engstrom prefers to walk the casino floor, so I expect we should be seeing him soon.”

“Duke Rose,” a voice boomed from nearby, right on cue.

Juno couldn’t tell whether the greeting had been kind or not, but he could tell for certain that he didn’t like the man who had said it. He seemed to wear a waistcoat just to show off a heavy watch chain worth more than Juno’s entire bank account, and he didn’t doubt he could pay off the rest of his college debt with any one of the paperweight rings glittering like an insect’s eyes from his fingers. He had an old face, carved into a scowl, but he had somehow pushed it around towards a smile that pretended to be businesslike, rather than patronizing. 

Juno wasn’t a particular fan of his bodyguard, either, whose long cigarette holder coughed smoke like a factory and whose mouth trended far too often towards a satisfied smirk. She had the perpetual expression of a cat remembering the last bird’s neck it had snapped and was all too happy to do it again.

“Dahlia, this is Brock Engstrom,” Duke smiled, though even his exuberance had gone a little terse. “Mister Engstrom, my wife, Dahlia Rose.”

“Pleasure,” Juno tried to say without curling his lip.

“I never took you as the kind of man for marriage, Rose,” Engstrom replied slowly, and for a moment, Juno suspected if he was purposefully trying to get them to crack.

“I wasn’t, when we met,” Nureyev smiled wistfully instead.

“That didn’t last,” Juno snorted.

“Dahlia, however, was all for the idea, and I would be a much crueler man than I am today to be able to say no to a lady like that,” Nureyev beamed again. 

Juno made a show of squeezing his hand and leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“And the woman on your arm, Mister Engstrom,” Nureyev started once more. “Lucky in love, I presume?” 

“In finding a bodyguard,” she huffed. “Name’s Valencia. I’ll be watching your game.”

“Game?” Juno started.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time, Rose?” She mused. “Old friends don’t come to the Oasis if they don’t want to play with the boss.”

“Just so,” Engstrom returned. “So what’s on the table this time, Rose? I see you’ve made no secret of showing off my car.”

“Why don’t we discuss this in a private room?” Nureyev replied before Juno could even open his mouth.

“Lead the way, Valencia.”

Nureyev’s grasp on Juno’s arm had been tight before, though Juno had chalked that up to a show of domesticity, and perhaps some genuine affection. However, his grip only tightened as he followed Engstrom and Valencia to their back room. It felt as if he were burying his nerves away into his arm while the other hand slipped into his breast pocket to fix upon his gun.

“You alright?” Juno whispered.

“Stay on your toes, Juno,” he murmured.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I’ll tell you once we’ve won that plane,” Nureyev hissed before his face could do anything more than flicker out of its smile.

The private room reeked of expensive cigars. Smoke seemed to cling to everything, from the moody green of the wallpaper to the red velvet of the couch cushions. Juno wouldn’t have been surprised if a cloud of the stuff wheezed out of one of the chairs if he took a seat. 

Nureyev gestured to the empty seat at his side when he took his place across a long, dark table. It was expensive in a quiet kind of way. Unlike the tables on the main floor of the casino, it felt no need to flash its value in gaudy gold leaf or the gleam of freshly polished wood. Rather, the oak was inlaid, carefully crafted and preserved against the climate by hand.

All in all, Juno decided it would be best to appreciate the room on his feet.

“Dear, your poor feet must be killing you in those shoes,” Nureyev protested, but Juno shook his head.

“Just like ma always said,” he joked dryly. “It builds character.”

“If you insist,” he sighed, though not without affection, a domestic little smile waltzing across his face when Juno placed a protective hand upon the back of his chair. “Mister Engstrom, I suppose before any game is to begin, we should discuss the terms of play.”

“Of course,” Engstrom smiled. Juno had no idea why the look made his stomach turn, but he found his hand growing tighter on the back of Nureyev’s chair anyway. “You want a plane, and I don’t want to lose it.”

“So the question then becomes what I have to offer,” Nureyev continued. 

“Well, not you, exactly,” Engstrom chuckled. 

“Beg pardon?”

“Your ransom, sweetheart,” Valencia mused from the other end of the table, punctuating her sentence with the slap of the final card upon the wood. “A couple hundred thousand pounds would more than make up for that plane.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Juno hissed.

“I thought you might be more willing to do me a favor after I took the blame for the both of our actions on that last jewel heist,” Nureyev sighed. “No honor among thieves, I see.”

“Honorable enough to play you in a game of cards before I call the authorities,” Engstrom returned.

“Honorable enough not to cheat?” Juno snapped.

“Now, Dahlia, let’s not—”

“Are you insinuating something, Steel?”

“You can take my insinuation and shove it—what?”

Engstrom smiled like a hunter staring down a snared rabbit.

“Did I let something slip?”

Juno didn’t know how to process what happened to Nureyev other than that Duke Rose had died upon his face. The color of his jacket seemed sharper, somehow, his face drawn into focus instead of lofty domesticity. Even his posture had changed. While Duke Rose had lounged, it seemed in five words, Brock Engstrom had called upon Peter Nureyev, who sat as straight as a cadet and kept a hand upon his pistol under his coat.

“How the hell do you know my name?” Juno demanded.

“A certain artifact goes missing, and the curator’s stooge goes with it. A certain anthropologist calls me and tells her if either show up in the pocket of a certain unnamed thief, she’ll offer me twice what I could get for turning in the thief. I can put two and two together just fine,” Engstrom continued, one thick, ring-encrusted finger swirling loftily around the rim of his glass.

“You—you bastard! You’re just gonna—”

“Now, you see, Rose,” Engstrom continued. “I don’t particularly like your former employer, so I’m willing to cut you a deal. If you win, I’ll offer you not only my plane, but a safe passage away from Egypt. If not, it’s just a matter of whether the authorities or Miasma get here first.”

“There’s no way in hell—”

“Deal,” Nureyev interrupted. 

“Seriously?” Juno sputtered. “You seriously think he’s gonna play an honest game?”

“No, but if we want a chance of getting out of here, I’ll have to believe it,” Nureyev grimaced. 

He pulled his hand away from the pocket for just a moment, trailing it just above his shoulder and gave Juno’s hand a little squeeze.

“I’ll be fine, dear,” he smiled, so loftily that Juno knew it had to be false.

“Anyone wanna explain the game to me while we’re here?” Juno huffed.

“No,” Valencia smiled over her drink, a glass of red wine she hadn’t touched for far too many minutes since pouring.

“Nureyev,” Juno groaned into his partner’s ear.

“I’m afraid I’ll be of little help either, dear,” Nureyev smiled supportively, though he drew Juno’s knuckles to his lips for a kiss in the form of an apology. “I’ll need my focus for the game.”

Valencia laid three cards upon the center of the table, each face down and shining ruby red against the deep, dark oak that swirled in its barely visible grain below. Their backs, each bearing an intricate, lacy pattern Juno had to squint to see in the dim light of the gambling room, grinned up at him mirthlessly. He was reminded, in a way, of those witches from fairy tales who always seemed to be sisters, born to walk the world in threes. 

He didn’t doubt their taunting, daunting smiles looked much different from twin looks of predatory ease that gnashed their teeth at him from across the table.

Juno didn’t need to play poker to know Nureyev’s hand was good. His bets started small, first monetary bribes he thought could make up for whatever price Miasma had placed atop his head. When Engstrom chuckled darkly across the table, the values rose to the car Nureyev had stolen from Engstrom and stocks and trade secrets Juno didn’t doubt would bring down business empires. 

Engstrom didn’t have a particularly good poker face, for his haughty look of confidence occasionally slipped into a dark little chortle that would occupy his face for a moment, then remember itself and leave. He flashed glances between his hand and Valencia’s cold, calculating gaze like he was telling some kind of inside joke with them. His values too increased with every round, though Juno knew exactly where the pair of them would end up.

Engstrom offered the plane.

Nureyev swallowed, and for the first moment all evening, something that might have been tension crossed his face. 

“I can offer you something more valuable than the bounty on my own head, though I’m afraid it won’t be easy,” Nureyev said all too slowly, as if every word felt like pulling a tooth.

“And that is?”

“I have priceless information regarding the whereabouts of internationally wanted terrorist Peter Nureyev,” he answered smoothly. 

“Excuse me?” Juno sputtered, though anything else he could manage to blurt out was covered by the sound of Engstrom’s laugh.

“Mister Rose, you and I both know a legend is worth nothing,” he said, though his feigned joviality was beginning to crack with annoyance. 

“I assure you, Mister Engstrom, I am deadly serious.”

The air in the room grew so tense that Juno was pretty sure if he pulled a knife, it would start to bleed. Engstrom’s cigar smoke seemed to dance its way into his lungs like tiny ropes, closing his airways and choking him from the inside out. 

He swallowed and tried to bring his spinning head back to a weak-kneed body, but Nureyev—internationally wanted terrorist Peter Nureyev—and his cool, easy confession kept dazzling his mind like the glint of the sun off the snow. In concept, it would usually be a lovely thing, though in reality, it left his eyes burning and his face fighting back a twisting wince. 

“I’ve seen men make desperate attempts for their lives before, Rose. This isn’t—“

Engstrom’s sneer shattered when a gunshot splintered through the bottom of the table. Nureyev stood in a panic, using those precious few seconds in which the sound still sizzled in the air like a dying lightbulb to throw himself in front of Juno. However, he was not quite fast enough to jostle Juno past his vantage point.

Valencia scrambled to throw away her smoking gun, as if either of her guests would have ever believed her to have misfired into the wall behind Nureyev’s head. It gave Engstrom exactly the moment he needed to slip a card or two from his sleeves into his hand, tossing aside his former pair and leaving it somewhere under the table. Juno wasn’t quite able to catch sight of both cards, but he knew for certain neither bore any monarch’s face.

Juno only came back to himself, wide eyed and panting, when he felt Nureyev’s hands roving over his chest and back and waist and hips in a desperate, fruitless search for an injury. 

“Juno, dear, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, though Juno had a feeling he was whispering this mantra of comfort as much for Juno as himself.

“Didn’t hit me,” Juno assured him.

Something buckled in Nureyev’s face for a moment. It was almost enough to shake the bad taste in his mouth away, though Juno remembered all too potently whose hands were wrapped around his own and squeezing. He couldn’t be sure if it was a comforting touch or a controlling vice grip, so he tried to slide his hand away as kindly as possible.

“Mister Rose,” Engstrom interrupted, clearing his throat. “We have a game to finish.”

Juno’s expression soured.

“Rose, you’re not making another damn bet,” he warned.

“Juno,” Nureyev huffed. “You’re not merely going to make me fold because our company’s gun misfired, are you?”

“I’ve seen misfires,” Juno snapped. “That wasn’t a misfire. Tell me, Valencia, do you aim for the head every time your gun goes off?”

“Mister Steel—“ Engstrom’s began to growl, though Juno grit his teeth and kept going.

“And you, Mister Engstrom,” he pressed on, mocking Nureyev’s tone of respect. “Mind if I check under the table for your cards?”

“Are you implying something?”

“Oh, was I?” Juno huffed. “I’ll be blunt then.”

Juno stooped to the ground and swept the cards out from under the table before any of the gathered company could begin to protest. Even slick with the residual sweat from Engstrom’s palms, they stood proud, though slightly bent in Juno’s fierce grasp.

“A two and a seven!” Juno sputtered out, holding them high for the room to see. “I don’t know how to play poker, but that’s not good.”

“You bet your plane on a two and a seven?” Nureyev shuddered.

“And the king and queen up his sleeve,” Juno snorted mirthlessly.

“Rose, I’d suggest you get a leash for your date before he does something else he’s going to regret,” Engstrom growled.

Nureyev opened his mouth to reply, but Juno had already stuffed his hand into that pretty pink jacket and pulled out Peter’s gun. He had expected to regret it, but Valencia’s hand had already flown to her own weapon, frozen upon the grip as she met Juno’s eye with a look like wildfire. 

“You’re not getting away with this, Steel,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “We’ve got security.”

“And I assume they’ll be happy to haul away any and all cheaters, especially those who underpay them,” Nureyev smiled, his look of shock all but whisked away into the victorious smile of a cat staring at the mouse trapped under its paw. 

“You’ll pay for this,” Engstrom tried to sneer.

“Yeah, whatever,” Juno cut him off before he could open his mouth again. “Show us to the plane and nobody gets hurt.”

It only required a little jabbing in the back to herd Engstrom to the little one-plane landing strip behind the casino, as fit for flashy entrances as it was for late night escapes. Engstrom did his first kindness to them all evening when he stormed back towards the casino, likely ready to call security or the police or worse, Miasma.

For a moment, Juno couldn’t find it in him to care. If the stars above paled in comparison to the Oasis Casino, the Oasis Casino paled in comparison to Peter Nureyev’s smile, lost in wistful thought. Nureyev ran a reverent hand over the side of the plane, a green two-seater that he regarded as if it were holy. 

Juno tried to see the killer in his face. He tried to conjure some image of the man who had laughed in glee and brandished his weapons at a pair of goons. He squinted against the shadow of the dark, though no sharp-faced demon manifested from that soft and lovely cheek. Juno pretended his stomach didn’t churn at the thought of his incompetence in the one instance he truly needed to see the evil in someone.

“Nureyev,” Juno stopped him before he could open the hatch. 

“We have a limited number of hours, Juno—“

“Who the hell are you?” Juno broke him off, staring down the man who he had held in his own bed and whose wife he had pretended to be for a day.

Nureyev, for once, couldn’t seem to think of any words.

“How many goddamn skeletons are in your closet that I don’t know about, huh? How much are you gonna keep from me just to drag me around and get me to do whatever you want me to do?” He pressed forward. He pretended his fist wasn’t tight around the handle of his suitcase, white-knuckled and nearly shaking. “How the hell do I trust that you don’t want that bomb for the exact same reason Miasma does, and you just need me to get there?”

Nureyev sighed. His posture failed for a moment, leaving him leaning all too heavily on the side of the plane. Only then did Juno remember the injury that had spent the entire day eating into his side, for only then had Nureyev let fatigue erode across his face.

“I can only ask you to trust me,” he began slowly, as if choosing his words one by one. “I don’t think I have the capability to tell you the full story now, I’m afraid. I need to spare myself for the flight.”

“Just tell me something,” Juno insisted. “Give me one damn good reason to believe you’re not gonna shoot me dead the second you get your hands on that bomb.”

“I was a teenage revolutionary in a country that had a tendency to execute its own,” Nureyev returned tersely. “I gave you everything I am—the only reason I am alive today when I gave you my anonymity. I only ask you do the labor of trusting me in return.”

Before Juno could reply, he kicked the door of the plane open and took his seat without glancing back to see if Juno had done the same. He knew Nureyev was waiting for him, though his icy glare, glinting behind his goggles, never did anything more than meet Juno’s in a reflection as he took off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOOOOM THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTIIIIIING
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment below or ill steal that airplane you just have sitting around
> 
> Make sure to check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW!! this one's soft folks
> 
> Content warnings for air travel, mention of air sickness, minor heights, blood mention

It was safe to say Juno didn’t like airplanes. They were the perfect combination of speed and height and the inability to pull over at any given time. The hours in dead silence while the world whirred by didn’t make anything better, especially not with a gaping ocean below.

Juno needed a distraction, and twiddling his thumbs and clinging to the sides of his seat wasn’t cutting it.

“Nureyev,” he began, voice going a little thin. 

“Twelve more hours, dear,” Nureyev returned, though it sounded as if he were gritting his jaw. 

“I know that, just—“ Juno broke off with a grimace. 

“What?” Nureyev demanded so sharply Juno jumped.

When Peter turned his head, he caught the tail end of the movement. His face softened as if his words had been a physical wound, and for a moment, he looked as if he were going to take his hands away from the steering altogether, electing instead to cradle Juno’s face in apology. After a moment, however, his gaze was drawn out the front of the plane once more. He still reached a hand across the cabin to squeeze Juno’s, however.

“Thanks,” Juno breathed. “I don’t like heights.”

“Or airplanes, I’m assuming,” Nureyev returned, his smile still tight with an unsaid apology. “Nothing to worry about.”

After a moment, his grip on Juno’s hand grew a little too tight and he sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, dear,” he began. 

“I’m sorry for bringing up—“

“No,” Nureyev interrupted firmly. “You had every right to know exactly who you were stepping into a plane with. Though I’ll admit it was a painful memory to relive, I shouldn’t have been harsh with you.”

“Thanks,” Juno breathed, just happy to have some sound filling the cabin and distracting him from the world whizzing by outside. 

“While we’re both awake and talking, is there anything else you would like me to explain before I’m finished spiriting you away to another continent?” Nureyev mused.

Juno couldn’t shake how much lighter Nureyev sounded, as if the apology had added years to his life. He sat a little straighter, and after far too many minutes with his gaze firmly on the sea ahead, he was beginning to spare the occasional glowing glance towards Juno.

“Nothing I feel like I should ask you about while you’re flying a plane,” Juno snorted.

“You make a fair point,” Peter chuckled. “Anything you, perhaps, would like to fill me in on?”

“Maybe when I’m a bit more awake,” he yawned. “I think all this damn stress is gonna kill me.”

“It’s not my fault the world needs saving,” Nureyev huffed, pretending to be offended as much as Juno had pretended to be half-asleep.

“You’re not fun,” Juno teased.

“Well, forgive my lapses in entertainment, but I was shot yesterday,” Nureyev sniffed. “By now, I would usually have any attractive comrade of mine thoroughly enjoying themself, and yet, here I am, horribly wounded and stuck in an airplane for the next decade.”

“Sounds nice,” Juno snorted. “What, all both of them?”

“Just because I have been relatively busy as of late—“

“I’m kidding, Nureyev,” Juno chuckled, finding it was getting continually easier to do so as Peter inadvertently distracted him from the insistent tug of panic on the back of his mind. “I’m sure you could have anyone in the world you wanted.”

“You saw my injury, Juno,” Nureyev protested.

“Yeah, and you let me rip your shirt open and everything, you fox,” Juno teased, though the joke landed a little flat when he ended it with a yawn.

“You’re impossible,” Peter huffed, though a grin had begun to slide across his face. “And, if I’m guessing correctly, not the biggest proponent of air travel?”

“Goddammit, now I’m gonna think about it,” Juno groaned. “If you’re gonna make fun of me, I’m kicking you out.”

“Would you like me to teach you how to fly first, Juno?” Nureyev chuckled.

“Yeah. Whatever. Teach me how to fly, then I’ll chuck you into the ocean,” Juno managed to laugh, subconsciously releasing his death grip on either side of the seat. 

“It’s like I was always told by the man who taught me to fly,” Peter smiled wistfully. “I’ll teach you how to fly for free, but you’ll have to pay me if you wish to learn how to land.”

“Who the hell taught you to fly?”

“The man whose plane I was stealing,” Nureyev grimaced. “It was one of my earlier solo thefts. My foresight has since improved.”

Perhaps it was stress or exhaustion or the two manifesting as a bone-deep physical ache, but Juno’s head fell back and he heaved out a cackle of a laugh. It wasn’t too difficult to find something funny in it all, especially when he was tired. He was playing hooky from work to fly across the Atlantic Ocean in a stolen plane, side by side with a master thief with a million dollar skeleton in his closet. It was ridiculous.

And yet, here he was, another glowing dot reflected in the deep, pensive sea below. He was a comet dragged down to earth on his dark and dazzling night flight with Peter Nureyev, who too gripped the steering a little tighter to brace against his own chuckle.

Juno wasn’t an idiot. He knew there was blood on the hands of the man at his side, and he knew the mission on which they embarked had nearly dragged him down the same road. However, it was far too easy to tip his head back and laugh up at the stars above like he was laughing at God, feeling a little more invincible for all of it. Peter had a way of making him feel like there was iron in his bones. With the way Nureyev shot the occasional soft look at him, Juno felt that fear itself would tremble before him. 

Feeling invincible and feeling safe and maybe even feeling a little loved, Juno couldn’t quite remember when exactly he fell asleep. 

He had some memory of waking and getting half dragged through a private little landing strip and out of an aircraft carrier Nureyev paid someone handsomely to hide their plane within. However, somewhere between flashing a fake passport and slumping off the beaten down dirt trail and into the thicket of the jungle, he couldn’t exactly remember where he’d been claimed by his exhaustion once more.

When Juno dragged himself back to the waking world, his first thought was confusion, for somehow, under a dense canopy of trees, Nureyev’s eyes still held a galaxy of stars within them. After a moment in which Nureyev caught him staring and burst into a soft little laugh that made a nearby bird audibly flutter away, Juno felt his chest deflate. It had been but a reflection of their campfire, bustling with a warm little flame.

“Good morning, dear,” Peter smiled. 

“Ugh,” Juno groaned. “I didn’t pass out through the whole night, did I?”

“No, darling, I’m sure it’s hardly past midnight here,” he assured. 

Juno sat up a little straighter, only to freeze when he felt his surroundings. A rolled bundle of fabric of some kind had nestled into the back of his neck, while his legs had somehow tangled with Nureyev’s. In fact, it seemed as if he had barely slumped out of Peter’s arms and up against a tree next to his, while Nureyev hadn’t had the will to do much more than provide him with a pseudo-pillow to keep him from getting a sore neck. 

“I didn’t have to carry you far,” Nureyev explained a little too quickly.

“It’s fine,” Juno tried to say in a way that came off as even without sounding too cold. 

Exhaustion still gnawed at him like a wild animal upon a bone, so when Nureyev merely reached over to give his hand a little squeeze, Juno appreciated a moment’s pause for comfortable silence. 

They sat like that for some time, pretending the hand between them meant less than it did and that neither of their eyes flickered towards one another when their little hearth fire upon the jungle floor burned spots into their eyes. Juno knew he couldn’t pretend forever, so once or twice, he opened his mouth, though no words could do justice to the turbulent sea of emotions held back only by the dam of his useless tongue. 

Nureyev caught him about to speak once, and did not push him forward. He merely smiled, a soft little look instead of his usual movie star beam, and squeezed Juno’s hand. He was patient in his silence, even though that expression that had once seemed razor sharp now told Juno a million things he too wished to say into the smoky night air, thick with steam and heat and possibility. 

Juno knew when he finally did speak, he wouldn’t have it in him to address the enigma sitting just eight short inches away, by his estimate. Instead, he took a deep breath, and tread back to a familiar stomping ground of his.

“My brother would’ve loved this,” he sighed. “He made me read a book on the Martians when we were kids, and hell, we always wanted to go into the field together.”

“I assume he’s—“

“Nearly two decades now,” Juno finished, hoping that would do justice to all the things he didn’t want to say.

Nureyev raised Juno’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them as a silent affirmation that he needn’t say anything more.

“Two decades ago,” he mused, a wistful smile blooming and dying on his face in a single moment. “I was a younger man, then. For better or for worse.”

“Yeah,” Juno snorted. “That’s how time works, Nureyev.”

His face fell when Peter seemed to ignore his joke, gaze long since fixed on the dying fire at his feet. Juno opened his mouth to say something, but Nureyev had already moved, moving forward to stoke the flames back to life. When he seemed satisfied with his work, he leaned back, though this time, he seemed to have no qualms about pressing up against Juno’s side.

“Forgive me my moment of intimacy, but you will be the first person to ever hear this story from me,” he sighed. 

Juno wrapped an arm around him and couldn’t even find the fortitude in himself to pretend that he was cold. It was about time he stopped pretending that Peter Nureyev was not someone he wanted to hold. He couldn’t hold himself back for his entire life, as much as a part of him wanted to. Even though he was on the floor of a jungle in some country far away from his kitschy little tourist trap of a job, perhaps it was the place to start. 

Nureyev showed his appreciation with his weight slumping into Juno’s side, as if only with exhaustion clawing at him, he could truly betray the amount of pain in which his injury had still left him. Before Juno could ask, however, he spoke. 

“I was sixteen or seventeen,” he began slowly, wincing in thought. “I never knew my birthday, so I can only assume.”

Juno let his head fall upon his shoulder as the story unraveled. He could almost see it, flickering somewhere in the light of the flame. A younger man with a rounder face and limbs too long for his body wore a smile not quite unlike Nureyev’s. However, it was unpracticed, a little too wide and a little too sweet. He was no longer cute enough to get away with his pickpocketing, yet not the man who used his handsomeness and charm as a mask and sword and shield. 

Only about halfway through the story, once Nureyev had begun to weave strands from the hazy night air into the picture of a young man and his father figure and a Guardian Angel System, did Juno realize he had already heard the story. He had seen a blurred picture on wanted posters at airports and train stations, paired with warnings of cunning and terrorism and patricide.

He hadn’t ever heard the story of the terrified young man with the world on his shoulders, saving his nation from both the crime he never wanted to commit and the government he never wanted to be stuck with. He had heard and brushed off propaganda that treated the young man like some kind of angel, though even upon hearing that angel’s side of the story, the propaganda seemed even more wrong. 

As much as he was a revolutionary who bought years of peace, he was a scared kid in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wasn’t a bold savior as much as he was someone who had only ever recounted the story once, and spent the entire time doing so all but cradled in Juno’s arms. 

When his voice, trembling for the first time Juno had ever heard, finally trailed off and he managed to pull his eyes off the fire long enough to look at Juno, he sighed like the weight of the world had been borne away with his words.

“What do you think of me now, Juno?” He tried and failed to chuckle.

Juno didn’t know what to say, so he just leaned down and kissed his forehead instead, repaying the kindness he had found the morning after Nureyev first parted his company. 

That seemed to be all the answer Nureyev needed, for he sighed once more and let his eyes flutter shut. Juno knew him well enough to know he wasn’t sleeping, but merely enjoying the feeling of his head slumping down onto Juno’s chest. When he had, accidentally or not, fallen a little too far, Juno pressed a kiss to the top of his head and chuckled. 

“Comfortable?” He teased.

“Very,” Nureyev replied with a wistful little smile.

The warm light set an easy golden glow across his face, as if he were a holy figure in an old painting. Every sharp line of his face seemed a little softer, though perhaps, the tension had just eased away in the presence of warmth and gentle light and comfort. Even if the night was a little too hot and the jungle was a little too hazy, Juno didn’t particularly mind the touch, and it seemed, in the lazy, peaceful smile that bloomed like a rose across Nureyev’s face, he didn’t particularly mind it either.

Nureyev let out a sweet little sigh and burrowed a little closer into the front of Juno’s shirt. When Juno wrapped his arms around his shoulders in return, it felt so easy that gravity might have drawn them there, rather than an active decision. 

“Juno,” he began, eyes flickering open just in time to catch Juno with his jaw slightly slack.

“Yeah?”

Nureyev sat up slightly, just enough that he could look Juno in the eye without having to twist his neck too painfully. He paused for a moment as his hand came to rest on Juno’s cheek. Juno wasn’t sure quite what to say in response to that single motion that flooded him with such a trembling warmth, but it seemed Nureyev was about to take care of his issue when he leaned forward.

Their lips were mere centimeters apart when Nureyev paused.

“Can I kiss you?”

Juno snorted, though not unkindly.

“Do you need to ask?”

Nureyev’s face broke into a quiet little laugh that Juno could have spent the rest of his life listening to. However, it lived and died on his lips in an instant, blooming and flickering out like a firework tearing through the pensive blue of the night sky. It seemed, Peter deemed his lips better fit for other things, and with a stifled gasp and a fire in his chest and his arms woven and interwoven around Peter Nureyev, Juno couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOHOO!!! FUCKIN FINALLY
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and comment or youre not invited to my birthday party
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohO!
> 
> Content warnings for pursuit, peril, a giant indiana jones style boulder

“What the hell did you bring a bullwhip for?” Juno grumbled halfway through Nureyev’s overstuffed bag of potentially useful supplies. “When are we ever gonna need a bullwhip?”

“It always pays to be prepared,” Nureyev returned, though his words grew choppy as he hacked his machete through another layer of brush.

“Does it pay to be that prepared? Does it really ever pay to be that prepared?”

“Just find the compass, dear,” Nureyev huffed, though a smile that almost bordered on debonair wiped across his face at Juno’s words. “If your translations of the stone were correct, we should be getting close enough that the compass will begin showing signs of interference.”

“Of course my translations were right,” Juno snorted. 

“Last night, you told me that we were looking for an urn, rather than a ruin,” Peter reminded him with a friendly chuckle.

“Yeah, well maybe it was a metaphor,” Juno returned, his sharpness as false as the roll of Nureyev’s eyes. “Big container full of death, you know?”

“I assumed you were an anthropologist, not an English major,” Nureyev grinned, tossing Juno the compass from his bag when Juno finally gave up on searching for it. 

“Neither of us get paid,” Juno snorted. “What’s the difference?”

“What does the compass say?” Nureyev huffed. 

“Well, either north moved, or this compass is magnetized to your ass,” Juno teased. “But I don’t think it’s b—”

“Juno Steel, if you finish that sentence, you are swimming home,” Nureyev warned.

“At least if we get chased by any giant boulders and you get run over, nothing’s gonna change,” Juno snorted.

“Just tell me which vine I need to cut next,” Nureyev replied through gritted teeth, though Juno could tell his feigned anger was straining to hold back a laugh.

They carried on through the jungle for some time, and even though Juno was up to his ass in flies and mud and wildlife he just prayed would stay away from him, he couldn’t find it in himself to be miserable. On the occasion, Nureyev, who had the audacity to look beautiful while streaked in mud and sweat and the occasional bout of precipitation, would turn to him and smile for no reason at all. 

After a few days of lugging around suitcases and fighting their way through leaves and brush and vines, Juno finally huffed and came to a stop, leaning against a tree.

“Nureyev,” he huffed. “Wait a moment.”

“Dear,” Peter sighed. “Are you alright?”

“We’ve been walking for hours, just give me a second,” he breathed.

Even hot and sticky and sore as hell, he couldn’t find it in him to mind when Nureyev dropped his bag and strolled over to the tree on which Juno leaned. If any other person were to offer physical touch, Juno would have spurned them away, but with Nureyev’s gloved hand running over the curve of his cheek and somehow pulling his face into a smile, he couldn’t complain.

“If you need to sit for a moment—”

“No, no, I’m good,” Juno sighed. “Short legs and shitty lungs, you know the deal. I can keep going.”

Nureyev nodded in understanding. Juno didn’t miss when he threw Juno’s bag over his shoulder and picked up his own before nodding back to the trail he had cleared. 

“Well, if that’s the case, I’d hate to make you go much further with all this extra weight,” Nureyev smiled. 

Juno opened his mouth to offer to take his bag, though after a few strides forward, he froze when he saw Peter had dropped it altogether. 

“Honey?” He called ahead.

“Juno,” Nureyev breathed, words soft and nearly devoured by the surrounding rustling of leaves and the constant chirp of birds that were perpetually nearby, and yet never seen.

“Nureyev, what’s—” Juno started. He forced his legs forward, even if they were laden with the metal weight of exhaustion. When he stumbled to Nureyev’s side, he found him frozen, and before Juno could finish his sentence, found himself rendered exactly as still. “Woah.”

Nureyev seemed to gather himself quicker than Juno, a smile interrupting his shock. 

“Woah, indeed,” he chuckled.

Juno wasn’t sure if his feet were still on the ground when the ruin came into sight. While he had certainly seen Martian architecture before, between textbooks and grainy silver screen slideshows, this structure was nothing like any of the crumbling slate gray stone he had become accustomed to.

The ruin towered higher than even Juno’s apartment complex, while the columns twisting and gnashing around the building like a layer of razored teeth bared a skeletal grin back at him. Even if they were spaced evenly and purposefully, he couldn’t quite get the image of a jagged-mawed shark out of his mind. The building could have reared its head back and swallowed the kitschy tourist trap of a museum where Juno worked whole, and it could have easily bared its grin and done it again. 

Juno didn’t have it in him to be scared of the structure, as much as a childhood instinct warned him that it looked like the mouth of a dark cave or the drawbridge to an evil sorcerer's castle. All he could consider was how well the structure had stood the tests of time. Even though paint and stone had weathered away in equal measure, the great, cubic cage of a building stood proud and sturdy, laughing in defiance at such things as time and decay.

In a way, the Egg of Purus hadn’t been the last accomplishment of the Martians. Their last accomplishment had been this feat of architecture meant to hide it from the world forever. If not for Miasma, Juno would have regretted ever laying eyes on something forever meant to stay hidden. 

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

“I was going to say terrifying,” Nureyev chuckled.

“It’s supposed to be,” Juno shrugged. “Why don’t we go in and see for ourselves?”

Nureyev blinked, though, as if remembering the career of the lady at his side, the shock leapt from his face. 

“Of course,” he began, though the look was soon replaced by a sly little smile that Juno had long since begun to associate with a teasing comment about his poorly hidden passion for linguistics or ancient engineering. “I was going to suggest you take a rest before we go in, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this excited in my life.”

“Shut up,” Juno grinned. 

“It’s sweet,” Nureyev chuckled.

Peter paused for a moment, turning away before Juno could reply. He shoved a few too many items, including the bullwhip, into a bag slung across his shoulder, then turned back to Juno with a grin and his arm offered, as if walking him to a dance floor, rather than their probable demise.

“Well,” he smiled. “Shall we?”

“It’s been nice knowing you,” Juno snorted, taking Nureyev’s arm nonetheless as they crossed the little threshold of clearing and set foot into the maw of the great structure ahead.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nureyev huffed, though his voice began to fall in volume as the darkness of the entrance hallway began to swirl and surround and echo. “If I thought we would die, I wouldn’t have taken you with me.”

“So what, you think this is just gonna be easy?” Juno asked, the same unknown pressure making his own voice fall as their echoes and footsteps grew into a wave of noise that clearly had discomfort slithering up Nureyev’s spine like a snake.

“We’ll be in and out of here in half an hour, by my estimate,” Nureyev smiled, though the beam of his flashlight revealed it to be terse.

“Really?”

“Oh, give or take a few life-threatening perils,” he chuckled.

“Great,” Juno huffed. “Watch your step up here. The stone said there would be stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“You know, booby traps, pressure plates, trip wires,” Juno elaborated. “The usual shit from the movie serials. I think they said there’s a puzzle or two in here, but if we accidentally fall in a giant pit or something, I don’t think we’ll get the chance to find it.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Nureyev smiled. 

As audibly large as the hall was, its gaping size didn’t quite come into view until a window, eyelike and crumbling, appeared around a corner. Thanks to the late afternoon light blazing above, the slate-gray of the stone was cast into a bright silvery light. Juno blinked away spots of pink and yellow and green, though he didn’t miss the way Nureyev caught his breath, as if the fresh jungle air had been the first he had tasted since they stepped into the cavernous ruin. 

The light was also enough to cast the nearby walls out of shadow, and despite the constant, nebulous pressure of Miasma, who certainly couldn’t be much more than a day or two behind them at this point, Juno couldn’t help but stop in his tracks.

“No carvings,” he wondered aloud.

“Beg pardon?”

“They carved everything,” Juno elaborated. “Kind of like a symbol of wealth for whoever was paying for the building. I mean, it makes sense with the circumstances and everything, but it’s weird to see up close.”

Nureyev’s face grew impatient for a moment, though the look softened as quickly as it had bloomed.

“What?” Juno demanded, though a chuckle bubbled right below the surface of his question.

“It’s nice to see you excited about something,” Nureyev smiled, though he quickly shook his head, as if to brush the moment of intimacy away. “Why don’t we keep going, love?”

“Sap,” Juno accused, though he turned away from the blank expanse of wall and squeezed his eyes shut, just to accustom himself to the dark before he and Nureyev were submerged in it once more. 

“I resemble that remark,” Nureyev joked, reaching blindly for Juno’s hand as he continued down the hallway. Juno took it and squeezed.

With the light still dazzling his eyes, Juno only realized Nureyev’s stride had been broken when he felt his hand jolt. Juno felt his stomach drop as somewhere from the dark at his side, a gasp sputtered out.

“Nureyev?”

“Shit,” he breathed. “Juno, did you happen to say something about tripwires?”

“Goddammit,” Juno groaned. 

He flickered his light downwards long enough to help Nureyev disentangle his foot from the wire, then shot it around to look for what the wire had triggered. For a society so adept with engineering, even if their last project had been a bit utilitarian, he would have expected it to still work. However, all he could hear were the pounding, shuddering thumps of his heart against his sternum, gradually picking up speed.

“It’s probably broken by now,” Juno offered. “Anything could’ve gnawed through the other side of this rope.”

“Juno,” Nureyev began slowly. “Do you hear that?”

“What?”

Nureyev shushed him and it struck Juno that the pounding he had heard before had not been internal, for his own heart was beating like the wings of a hummingbird at a much quieter volume. Rather, he heard a strange, monotone whirring that he could only place as sounding somewhat like a marble flicked along a hardwood floor. After a moment, the pounding resumed, growing faster and faster.

“Fuck,” he breathed in sudden memory of the stairs they had just come down.

The sound continued to get louder, rushing around in a great, slow circle, as if walking through the exact same spiral path through which Juno and Nureyev had just come. After a moment, however, it stopped its gradual siren of louder and softer volume. Instead, it stopped quieting altogether. Unfortunately, that gave Juno just enough time to pinpoint its location.

It was getting louder, and it was definitely coming from behind them. 

Juno whirled around just in time to see the boulder, at least twice his height and far too wide to get around, cascading down the hallway in their direction.

While Juno felt his entire body seize, Nureyev grasped him by the hand and took off at a sprint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW IT AINT AN INDIANA JONES AU WITHOUT A BOULDER
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or i will CRUSH YOU WITH THIS BOULDER
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEHAW!!
> 
> Content warnings for pursuit, mortal peril, gun violence, death threats

“Hey, in my defense,” Juno started, words raised to a shout over the echo of the ever-loudening boulder making the very floor below rumble. “I didn’t think they were actually gonna have a boulder.”

“Juno Steel,” Nureyev growled. Between the echo of his voice and the pounding from his feet along the ground, he sounded twice as loud. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“What?” Juno sputtered.

“I suppose there are probably better times for this conversation,” Nureyev began, still at a shout. “But I would rather have it before we get trampled by that boulder.”

Juno, still choking on his words, could only sputter out a repetition.

“What?”

“I said get trampled by that boulder!” Nureyev returned at twice his original volume.

“Before that,” Juno clarified. “You--”

“If you want me to recant it before we die, I’ll do so,” Nureyev cut him off. When Juno’s flashlight accidentally beamed into his face, Juno couldn’t be sure if the flush in his cheeks was from running or embarrassment. 

“If you feel that way,” Juno started before he could continue. He couldn’t help but wish they were somewhere a little kinder to be having this conversation, but with mortality and the boulder growing ever closer behind him and roaring in his ears like some kind of dragon from a story book, he knew he had to take his chance. “That makes two of us.”

Maybe he’d die here. Maybe he was going to get crushed by the boulder that raced down the hallway that he was beginning to realize was downwards sloping for a very specific reason. Maybe he’d never go back to a shitty job he hated, and maybe he’d never get to pay off his debt and do something with his life.

If that was the case, he would die on his feet, he was going to die running, and he was going to die hand in hand with Peter Nureyev, who had just said that he loved him. 

Maybe there were better ways to go. At least this wasn’t the worst.

Nureyev’s attempt to drag him forward and away from the boulder seemed to be working, at least, for when a quick turn around the corner of the spiraling hallway of the ruin saw them on a flattening surface, rather than a sloping one, the boulder stopped growing closer to them.

However, when a light from high in the wall revealed them to be at least twenty feet below the ground and the boulder to be at least two or three turns behind them, Juno found his knees locked and a gasp pulled from his lips. Where there was meant to be a stone floor, a deep gulf greeted them instead. Juno didn’t have the stomach to look down, but when Nureyev sputtered out his first thought, Juno’s fatal curiosity was sated.

“Dear God, Juno, look at those spikes!”

“I’d rather not,” Juno panted. “You think we can jump over?”

“I don’t believe so,” Nureyev grimaced. 

“So we’re dying here,” Juno huffed. 

“Not quite,” Peter returned, shoving a hand into his bag before Juno could begin to panic at the sound of the boulder turning one corner closer to them. 

“Nureyev, we don’t have time,” Juno protested, his exasperation turning to a groan when Peter pulled out the bullwhip. “Seriously?”

“Hold onto my waist, dear,” Nureyev instructed.

Juno didn’t have a choice, though he had a feeling it would be nicer to be run over or impaled intertwined with someone who loved him instead of alone. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrapped his arms tight around Nureyev’s waist just in time for the bullwhip to scream through the air. It was enough to shock his eyes open, just in time to see the whip circle around and grab onto a support beam overhead. 

With a triumphant cry that was drowned out by the deafening rumble of the boulder nearby, Nureyev leapt across the ravine, Juno in tow.

Juno hadn’t even realized his legs were on the ground once more until the sickening crunch of the spikes underneath the boulder filled his ears. Gasping, he glanced up and around, only to find the hole in the ground closed over by the rock and Nureyev still clinging to him in a shuddering half-hug.

“I thought we were gonna die,” Juno panted, though Nureyev firmly kissed anything else he might have said from his lips.

“Well, we certainly still have plenty of time to do that later,” Nureyev smiled, though his fatalism seemed little more than a joke in light of what they had just survived. “What do you think of my bullwhip now, dear?”

“I think you should shut the hell up,” Juno snorted. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Nureyev pressed. 

He had pulled back from their embrace just a bit, only to press his hand to the side of Juno’s face and run his thumb over a patch of dirt that had been smudged on his cheekbone by their misadventures. He smiled as if there were nothing in the world he would rather be doing, and despite himself, Juno reflected the look right back.

It wasn’t the most romantic place in the world, with the too-bright beam of Juno’s flashlight and the walls caked in moss and dripping roots. The white glow left half of Nureyev’s face in shadow and the other half tired and lined, looking hardly different from the stone of the hallway around. Regardless, when it tried that tired, yet gentle grin on for size, Juno felt his heart skip a beat. 

“About what you said earlier—” Juno started.

Nureyev shook his head.

“If it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It doesn’t,” Juno interrupted. “I’ve been wanting to say it for the last couple of days, actually, but the whole being in a giant terrifying jungle thing was a little more pressing.”

Nureyev beamed so bright it might have lit up the entire ruin.

“Well, I suppose a little pressure and a life or death scenario is the best thing to make you try to shorten your bucket list,” Peter chuckled.

“Yeah,” Juno snorted. “Never again.”

When Nureyev finally managed to part from him, it seemed he was not a strong enough individual to do so wholly. He kept a grip on Juno’s hand, even if it was clear both of their palms had grown sore from their sprinting vice grip before. Juno could only pray that was the last of the running he had to do, for his throat and lungs were on fire with the effort of panting, while his legs trembled with every step forward until he got used to standing once more. Even then, they shook, and on the occasion, one knee or ankle would forget to bear his weight and he would buckle, if only for a moment.

The instant he showed the first sign of slowing, Nureyev wrapped an arm around his waist. It was a brief gesture, and once Juno had regained his composure, the arm retracted, but it meant far more than Juno could put into words nonetheless.

Thankfully, their slow pace allowed for the easier dodging of several more traps. A few overhanging rocks were held aloft by more tripwires, which Juno kept a careful watch on with his flashlight. Once, when passing another hall that led to what looked more like a strategic perforation for air on an animal’s crate than an exit, he shone his light over a pressure plate and made a mental note not to forget about those as they marched further into the spiraling bowels of the ruin. 

“What do you think that was?” Nureyev asked after a moment too many in which the silence was only filled by the faint dripping from the roots above and the pounding echo of quiet footsteps.

“The door, you mean?”

“Yes, if that was truly a door.”

“Well, think about it,” Juno started. As much as he wanted to look up and try to meet Nureyev’s eye, he was too busy keeping his gaze on the floor to avoid all future mistakes. “This whole thing is supposed to contain a bomb, right? Look at the structure. It’s just one big spiral, which means it’s got the most possible wall per square foot.”

“To soak up the blast radius,” Nureyev offered.

“Exactly,” Juno continued. “I’ll bet we just passed the last exit, too. It’s not a door. More like a vent. I’d bet anything those are supposed to let some of the pressure out. If it saves us, it saves us, but we probably need to be careful and make sure it doesn’t lead off a cliff or something.”

“Well,” Nureyev started slowly. “Aren’t we just safest finding a way to detonate it inside of the building, then?”

“If it’s still standing, I don’t think they ever got the chance to see if it worked,” Juno returned. 

Nureyev prepared to speak again, but his words died on his tongue when Juno’s light hit a wall. 

“Juno,” he began. “You don’t think they sealed the Egg of Purus in, did they?”

Juno furrowed his brow as he shone his light up and down the wall of the dead end. At first, the light yielded nothing, though as he continued to scan down closer to his eye level, an inscription interrupted the smooth, eroded shape of the wall.

“Here we go,” he thought aloud.

“What does it say?”

“It’s—” Juno broke off, narrowing his eyes. “It’s really straightforward, actually.”

“As opposed to?”

Juno shrugged.

“A riddle, a puzzle, maybe some kind of ‘abandon all hope ye who enter here’ thing,” he offered. “It’s actually not that complicated.”

“What does it say, then?” Nureyev asked, a little too quickly.

“In layman’s terms, there’s a switch on the left and a switch on the right. The one on the left will kill you and the one on the right won’t,” Juno explained, a little slower than usual as he read and reread the warning in search of metaphor or grammatical technicality or some kind of loophole he couldn’t see. “We’re not really sure what it sounded like since they were such isolationists, but it kinda looks like it might rhyme. That’s kinda fun, right?”

“They put a rhyming couplet on a door concealing a weapon the like of which wiped out the majority of their civilization?” Nureyev sputtered.

“I did say I wasn’t sure,” Juno defended.

Nureyev sighed, though it was laced with affection. 

“Open the damned door, Juno,” he huffed. 

The switch wasn’t too difficult to find, though the seconds it took Juno to cross the hall towards the protruding circle of stone seemed to stretch into hours. Every bead of sweat down his neck could have been a crawling insect or slithering snake and his knees began to betray him at twice the usual rate. He hadn’t even realized he had frozen right before the button until Nureyev called for him.

“Juno, dear, are you alright?”

Juno glanced up at the inscription once more, just to ensure he had been correct. He swallowed. He nodded. He pressed his hand to the pressure plate upon the wall and pushed.

He froze and waited for a spike to jump from the wall or a rock to sink down upon his neck from overhead or for the entire chamber to blow to smithereens, but the only sound that greeted him was a faint rumbling as the wall blocking the way forward split in twain and pulled away.

“I am now, Nureyev,” he smiled shakily.

Peter spent a long moment blinking against the sudden light from the final, central room of the swirling maze of halls and exits and traps. However, once it seemed he had rid his vision from the confines of bruised splotches of light and could truly look upon the room before him, his face broke into an expression of awe.

“Juno,” he breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Juno hadn’t either, though he had daydreamed of such things when finding a reason to get himself through to the next exam in college. The room was bright with skylights that Juno could only assume were intended to let some of the explosion’s pressure out upwards and keep it contained. However, the Egg of Purus itself sat covered by a secondary shell of stone, kept away from the elements within a small box of weathered, mossy rock.

The Egg’s container was far from the most interesting thing in the room, however, for it seemed the jungle itself had reached its tendrils down into the structure and begun to devour it from the inside out. The entire chamber seemed seized by the roots of a thousand different plants, with vines and moss and leaves and plants all interwoven with the columns and cracks in the rock. With the golden light of early evening peeking through an overcast sky above, the room seemed set alight by the same divine hand that had blessed their campfire so many nights before.

Juno took Nureyev by the hand when he stepped into the chamber, too at awe with the swirling, echoing sounds of the forest to pay much attention to the unidentifiable sound of something getting ever closer from somewhere within the maze. His breath was too far gone and his eyes were far too wide open to think much about that rhythmic tapping, and with the noise of the jungle filling his ears, he could hardly tell that it nearly sounded like footsteps.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to just take the container and run,” Juno began slowly, wincing as his voice’s echo resonated around the chamber.

“Perhaps there’s some way to open it,” Nureyev offered. “There is that odd square missing from the side. You don’t think that your artifact might work as a key, would it?”

Juno rolled his eyes and huffed, but held his hand out for the map nonetheless. 

“If this works, I’ll buy you dinner afterwards,” Juno snorted.

“If we get out of here, I’ll buy you dinner for the rest of your life, dear,” Nureyev smiled, letting their hands brush for a moment too long when he passed the stone into Juno’s grasp.

“Here goes nothing,” Juno shrugged upon pressing the artifact into the square indent in the Egg’s container. “Huh. It fits and everything.”

“Now, Juno, what about that dinner you offered?” Nureyev chuckled, though it died away when Juno twisted the stone within the indent and the entire container cracked, falling to pieces like pottery cast to the floor.

Juno jumped back, though found it was without reason. Nothing had been triggered by the shattering of the case. Instead, it revealed an ovular object that was hardly different in color from the remainder of the room. Smears of green that might once have been some kind of paint decorated the outside, while the remainder of the weapon looked little different from what its title suggested.

“Huh,” Juno chuckled. “It really does look like an egg.”

“An egg we should probably cast into the ocean as soon as possible,” Nureyev returned, his haste hardly reflected in the way Juno remained frozen to the spot, hands in his pockets and eyes frozen to the weapon. 

“You wouldn’t think it would look so normal, huh?” Juno mused. “This little thing ended just about everybody, if the stories are right. And it just looks like an ostrich egg or something.”

“The worst weapons are often the ones that look the most mundane,” Nureyev replied.

Juno only realized he had been staring at the egg unblinkingly when Nureyev laid a hand upon his shoulder and gave it a supportive little squeeze.

“Let’s get out of here, my love,” he murmured. “We can’t be sure how quickly Engstrom sold us out.”

Juno nodded and leaned forward to pick up the Egg, though his fingertips had hardly brushed its ceramic shell before a gunshot shattered through the room, echoed off every wall like a firing squad let loose upon the ruin. He barely had time to look up before he heard Nureyev’s surprised cry and another person’s frustrated growl.

“Peter—” he started.

“If you want the thief to live, you’ll step away from that egg, Juno Steel,” a woman he recognized instantly as Miasma growled, a sneer dripping from her face and the barrel of her gun pressed directly into Nureyev’s temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH OH SISTERS
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill unleash the re-squid-inator 2000 and turn any old anthropologist ladies in the tristate areas into the squids they were always meant to be BWAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> Content warnings for character death, explosion, grief/mourning (ish?), pursuit, gun violence, gore, being inside a building while it's crumbling

“Juno,” Nureyev warned, though his voice had gone as tense as Juno had ever heard it. “It’s best to do as she says. Perhaps we might live a few minutes longer.”

“Quiet, thief,” Miasma snapped, jamming the barrel of her gun a little more sharply against his head.

“There’s no way in hell I’m handing this over,” Juno shot back, though when Miasma cocked her pistol, he jumped backwards from the Egg as if it had burned him. “Alright then.”

“Bring it to me, Juno Steel,” she instructed.

“See, here’s the problem with that,” Juno began. “I’ve always been a bit jumpy, and I’ve got a real nasty habit of dropping stuff, don’t I, Ransom?”

“Juno, what the hell are you—”

Nureyev went quiet when Miasma’s finger grew tenser around the trigger.

“What I’m saying is that if you want the Egg, you’re gonna have to let Ransom go,” Juno continued.

“I’m not an idiot.”

Juno wasn’t sure if he was thinking fast or thinking slow when he did it, but he grabbed the Egg before Miasma could protest and held it high above his head. Nureyev’s wide-eyed gaze met his, silent and pleading and trying to fit a million things into an instant. Juno was well aware he held the possibility of their lives together aloft when he held the egg high, but his jaw remained set.

“Why don’t you come get it before I blow us all to smithereens?”

Miasma tried to shove Nureyev to the side and march forward, but that only gave him the moment he needed to tear one of his pistols from his hip and train it on her. He nodded to Juno to back away, though it was hard to move at all at the sight of fire glinting in Nureyev’s already bright eyes. When he had threatened Miasma’s goons hardly a week ago, he had reared his head back and laughed. However, now his jaw had gone tight and his hand had gone taut around the grip. Whatever easiness once resided within him had left.

That didn’t stop Miasma from laughing, as cold and cruel as the bite of a winter chill through a hole in the roof. 

“Do you really think you can shoot me, thief?” She chuckled.

“Tell me, Miasma,” Nureyev began coolly. “How is my former comrade recovering?”

“He isn’t.”

Peter winced.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Miasma huffed. “I put the lead between his eyes. It’s like shooting an injured horse, thief. Whatever parts of your operation begin to falter need to go.”

“Yeah, that’s great and all,” Juno interrupted. “But can’t we get the hell out of here?”

“And you, Juno Steel,” Miasma continued. 

It would be incorrect to say there was something off about Miasma. Rather, there were many things that weren’t quite right, and all of them got under Juno’s skin in equal measure. Her voice slithered and squished like a predator most at home among rot and decay. She went far too long without blinking her beady little eyes, which were as calm as they were fixed on him. Worst of all, her posture remained casual, unlike Nureyev’s, which seemed to straighten to an abnormal degree when under any level of stress. Her hands stayed comfortable in the pockets of her coat, while her snarl of a grin refused to go anywhere.

She didn’t look like a woman caught in a trap, and that scared Juno most of all.

“Quit calling me that,” he huffed, though Miasma only repeated her cold squirm of a laugh.

“I kept a roof over the thief’s head for five years,” she pressed. “And he turned on me the moment he learned how to get to the Egg for himself.”

“Yeah, ever had a moral crisis before?”

“I don’t believe so,” Nureyev interrupted, but Miasma paid him no mind.

“How much do you really know about me, Juno Steel?”

“Just shut the hell up already,” he huffed, holding the Egg a little closer to his chest despite his fear of putting anything more than a feather-light pressure upon the weapon. “I know enough. I know that you learned about a bomb nobody should know about and your first instinct was to go after it and use it. I don’t need to know anything more.”

“Has the thief told you what he wants to do with it?” She sneered.

Juno felt his mouth open, preparing for words that never crossed his lips.

“Don’t listen to her, Juno,” Nureyev warned, hand beginning to shake around his gun.

“One anthropologist to another, Juno Steel,” she grinned. Juno felt corrupted in some way for having seen it. “We all know what men who steal like to do with weapons.”

“Juno,” Nureyev cut her off before she could begin to say anything else. “Dear.”

“Oh, so you two are—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Juno demanded.

He took a staggering series of backwards steps from the two of them, Nureyev still brandishing his gun and Miasma still brandishing her dead-eyed shark’s smile. Juno merely clutched the Egg of Purus close and took a deep breath, letting his eyes flicker between them. Each looked cold, though only one of them looked scared. 

“Ransom,” he began slowly. “I want to know exactly what you’re gonna do with the Egg.”

“Juno—” he sighed.

“Dammit, I want to hear it from you,” Juno cut him off before he could complain. “I don’t wanna hear whatever she’s gonna tell me. I want you to tell me exactly what you’re gonna do with the Egg of Purus.”

“My current plan is to cast it into the ocean,” Nureyev returned evenly. “If you take issue with that, of course we could discuss it at a different time, though I’m afraid our minutes may be numbered altogether if we waste too many of them here.”

“And what do you know about her plan?”

“Not much, I’m afraid,” Nureyev admitted. “I’ve seen a few different maps of major cities bearing a marked X, however.”

“And that’s enough for you, Juno Steel?” Miasma growled.

“He’s done a hell of a lot more for me,” Juno shot back. “Ransom, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

“Not yet,” Nureyev returned.

Something cold had bloomed in his eye, exactly where the little spark had been when he had been firing back at the henchmen. It sat heavy upon his face, as if it were a physical weight dragging at the shadows beneath his eyes that he had given up on hiding several days prior. However, that did not mean he would not or could not carry it, for his jaw was firm and set and the hand upon his gun did not shake.

“Juno, dear, look away,” he said evenly. “I know you don’t like blood.”

Juno winced in preparation of the shot, though his fatal mistake had been closing his eyes. He didn’t realize the Egg had left his hands until Miasma had torn it away, and not until a gasp sputtered from Nureyev’s lips did he realize a shot had been fired at all.

“You fool,” Miasma hissed, barely gurgling out the noise before a sound like a brick wall tearing itself in two rocketed through the room, and the shell of the Egg cracked where Nureyev’s bullet had pierced it.

“Juno, run!” Nureyev cried before Juno could even think to move his legs. 

When he remained frozen on the spot for just a moment too long while the blazing orange of the explosion seeped along the ground like a dripping, oozing lava, Nureyev seized him by his wrist and tugged him back into the hall from whence they came. 

Juno barely had time to switch on his flashlight once more, but even then, there was only so much that could be done to dodge tripwires. At that point, he could merely pant and sprint and pray that if his foot got caught, he and Nureyev would be faster than whatever weight would crush them from above or whatever gaping hole would devour them from below. 

The bomb was like nothing Juno had ever seen, whether it be in the newsreels of his childhood or movies trying to replicate them years later. It did not tear through the building so much as it wheezed out, coughing around corners and sinking its teeth into any living thing in its wake. Even the moss on the walls withered and died when it came within reach of the blast radius, which crept ever closer as the two of them sprinted around corners they had crept around what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Juno’s legs were screaming. They felt as if they had already been burned in that same initial blast that seemed to melt Miasma’s skin from her face and leave her skeleton to liquify on the ground in the wake of that great snail of a cloud. However, he couldn’t spare a glance downwards to see if he was truly bleeding or burnt, for he had to keep his hand tight around the flashlight and his eyes out for traps, all in the backwards order they had stepped around them. 

Every part of his body begged him to stop, exhaustion dragging at his ankles and clawing at his every muscle and tendon and joint. However, with the sting of heat growing ever closer and Nureyev’s occasional terrified glance thrown in his direction, all Juno could do was pray that his body wouldn’t give up before he did. 

The Martians had been purposeful when making the structure of the building a spiral. The walls would certainly slow and soak up the blast, containing it to the building, rather than the great two-mile wide blasted heath that had just barely begun regrowing in an archaeological site not too far from the ruin. However, Juno now knew for certain that the Egg of Purus was never intended to be purposefully detonated within the structure. If anything were to happen, it was meant to be a natural accident that could be contained, rather than this. 

The spiral of the hall meant that he and Nureyev had to run through an entire square to get another ten feet from the blast, and as the squares got wider and wider, Juno could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up and sizzle as the blast radius too grew ever nearer. 

His first sign of hope was the first of the pressure release points, cast in the red light of a fiery sunset that barely poked through the maw of the trees above. 

“Nureyev, we’re not gonna make it if we try to go out the front,” Juno panted as the light crept ever closer.

“You said there could be a cliff—”

“I’ll take a fucking cliff,” Juno wheezed. 

He seized Nureyev by the wrist and dragged him into the hall, uncaring of his flashlight or his perpetual downwards glance as the exit came into view.

Even if the sky above looked as if it were on fire, ash already raining from where the explosion had been released and leaving the ceiling crumbling in its wake, Juno would take it over being trapped in there to die. Even if he fell and broke a leg. Even if all that waited below was a roaring river or a pit of snakes, he would take it all over the hiss of the explosion deep within the cavern or the rumbling of crushing rubble that grew ever closer.

Nureyev made it out first, laughing in triumph as the opening led out onto a hill that was hardly steeper than the stairs to Juno’s apartment. 

Juno was further behind, legs iron and lungs burning and eyes going wide the second he realized Nureyev’s foot had sunk into a pressure plate and the door had begun to close. 

He tried to coax his legs to sprint or his lungs to breath or his lips to quit choking on his sweat and panic in equal measure. He tried to get one last good look at Nureyev’s face before the door could close entirely. He tried to pretend his last sight of any person wouldn’t be the vision of Nureyev, bathed in red light, with pain tearing across his face like an injury.

The great stone wall flung itself shut just and the room went black, just in time for the ceiling, somewhere nearby, to groan.

“Juno!” Nureyev cried from the other side of the door. 

Juno winced in sympathy when he heard his fist collide with the stone, as if such measures would do anything to help him.

“There has to be a switch somewhere,” he tried to calm himself aloud. “Juno, can you see anything about a switch on your side?”

“The pressure plate isn’t going back up,” Juno sighed.

“Don’t sound so defeated, dear,” Nureyev chided him. “Of course there has to be another way out. There has to be.”

Juno couldn’t remember when his legs had given out or when his back had collided with the wall, but sure enough, he found himself on the floor with his body finally giving up and aching too badly to move. He gave his flashlight a flick or two around in vain, though with memories of Martian engineering fluttering in the back of his mind, he knew well the door wouldn’t open until the shockwave blew it away.

“There isn’t,” he replied, perhaps a little too coldly.

“Juno,” Nureyev breathed, for it seemed he couldn’t think of another thing to say.

“Face it, honey,” Juno sighed. “I think this is the end of the line for good old Juno Steel.”

“You mustn't talk like that,” Nureyev tried to interrupt, but Juno laughed coldly and his voice died away so suddenly that it might have been vaporized by the explosion, whose heat was fizzling ever closer and whose rumbling was beginning to shake Juno’s voice as the structure itself protested the blast from within.

“Just let me talk,” Juno huffed. He paused for Nureyev to reply, but it seemed all he could do was bang his fist upon the door one time and let it slide for a few inches before he recognized its futility and let it fall away. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?”

“Juno, I—”

“Shut up,” Juno choked. “I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to leave you with something nice.”

“If you break my heart before you go, I’ll never forgive you,” Nureyev sputtered out. 

“Tough luck,” Juno laughed coldly, though it faded. “I’m sorry, it’s just a lot to handle. This might’ve been the happiest goddamn week of my entire life, you know that, right? Hell, I don’t know what the hell I would’ve done if I lived. There’s no way I’d go back to my old job.”

“I had an offer,” Nureyev started. “I was going to ask you to see the world with me, dear.”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” Juno sighed, a wistful smile fretting its hour upon his face and fizzling out just as fast. “This might be stupid to say now, but God, I think I’m in love with you.”

“Juno,” Nureyev tried to start again, though the word faded before he could find anything to put behind it. 

In those two syllables, however, Juno heard more meaning to his name than he had ever heard in a passing usage. When Peter said it, he could almost hear the goddess in the name. Those two syllables were a sonnet and a love letter and a prayer, cherished upon his tongue and lips and teeth. He seemed to hold Juno’s name in the palm of his hand with all the knowledge that soon he would have to let it go, and when he spoke it again, he would merely be attempting to revive a dead thing. Saying his name in the future would do no more good than sitting beside the body of a loved one and asking them to wake up. Nureyev held his name in honor now, for soon, all he would be doing would be picking up a dead leaf and begging it to grow.

“Say it back,” he murmured after a moment. “I don’t know how much longer I have, and I wanna hear it one more time. Then I’m gonna make you run, so you don’t get hit. Is that okay?”

“Juno, you idiot,” he breathed.

“I’m not letting you die with me,” Juno protested.

“I’m not letting you die alone,” Nureyev returned, a little stronger. “I love you.”

“You’re not stupid, Nureyev,” Juno sighed. “If you wanna stay, stay, but I need you to run once you hear the ceiling start to go.”

Juno couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door, though he knew Nureyev had not moved. Even over the sound of the floor trembling like a leaf and the dying sizzle of the explosion beginning to fade out, he knew he would have heard him crashing through the brush.

“Nureyev?” He called nonetheless, though the words had barely left his lips before a tremor and a crack shot through the ceiling above. 

A part of Juno wanted to die on his feet, though he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to stand, especially not with the shaking of the ground below. Even if it was selfish, there was a tiny part of him that wanted to hear Nureyev’s voice one more time before the explosion or the rubble got to him. However, all he could do was remember the last thing Peter Nureyev had said and try and fail to squeeze his eyes shut.

He supposed there were worse ways to go than this. At least he would die with the ghost of an I love you fading on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody together now: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill hurt them WORSE BAHAHAHAHAHA jk i dont have it in me
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about that last one folks oopsies my hand slipped and i crushed juno with a building
> 
> Content warnings for injury, blood mention, eye trauma mention

All Juno knew when he awoke was that half the room was black and the other half was blurry and somewhere nearby, someone was in the midst of a heated, near-tearful argument in a language he didn’t recognize. 

He tried to raise his head, but it felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton. It buzzed with medication that had thinly covered pain, and even if he blinked, his vision and the distant, muted pounding of his headache refused to budge. His neck cracked painfully when he tried to force the weight of a skull off the pillow, feeling like gravity had chosen to be twice as purposeful as usual when pinning his head and neck to the fabric below.

Juno hadn’t even realized the conversation had broken off until he heard hurried footsteps all but sprinting to his bedside. Somewhere, a million miles away, there was an unmistakable warning in that same language he didn’t understand. However, that didn’t seem to stop the person rushing to his bedside from scrambling into a chair and grasping his hand. 

“Juno,” the man he recognized as Peter Nureyev breathed as if his head had come above water for the first time in a week and he was attempting to shudder and gasp for all the air he could manage. “Juno, my love, you’re—”

“What?” Juno mumbled before Nureyev could lead himself into the rambling tangent that so clearly tugged at him. “We alone?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Are we alone?” Juno clarified, a few more blinks and a cough clearing his throat when it had been a mere croak before.

Nureyev glanced back at the person with whom he had been arguing and nodded for them to leave the room. He said something apologetic that Juno couldn’t quite make out, even if he discerned a word that sounded vaguely like ‘spouse.’

When they found themselves alone once more, it seemed all Nureyev could do was look upon Juno as if he had strung every star in the sky like a fairy light upon a fencepost. The circular light above Juno’s hospital bed framed Nureyev like a halo, making his reverent touch of the side of Juno’s face all the sweeter. It seemed, however, he could not keep his tender touches to merely a squeeze of Juno’s hand and the drawing of lines upon his cheek, even if the tracing of his thumb might as well have anointed Juno’s cheekbone in holy oil.

“Good Lord, you scared me,” Nureyev breathed, though it sounded as if he were talking to himself. “My love, there was so much blood when I found you, I—“

Nureyev seemed to run out of energy to speak and shook his head.

As if suddenly compelled by some unseen force, Nureyev wrapped his arms around Juno’s torso and buried his head in his chest. Juno didn’t know if he was crying. He didn’t feel it right to ask, especially because Peter Nureyev seemed to be the kind of person to only cry once in a blue moon. He certainly wasn’t complaining, however, for he could not remember how long it had been since his body had not burned and since he had known such a kind and tender touch.

Even if exhaustion already weighed on him, Nureyev’s weight across his chest was kinder. Peter kept leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead or cheek or lips or knuckles, unable to hold any position for a moment, for his breaths would quickly begin to heave and his voice would choke somewhere along the line of his sputtered and desperate string of pet names and adorations and sweet nothings that meant everything to Juno.

“Nureyev,” Juno finally breathed after a moment. “Where am I?”

“A hospital, dear,” Nureyev returned calmly, even if when he raised his head to speak, his glasses had been knocked astray and a strand of his usually composed hair had fallen into his face.

Nureyev opened his mouth to speak again, but Juno stopped him, reaching a bruised and aching hand up to brush the stray hair back behind his ear. 

“Thank you, dear,” he smiled. His usual practiced beam had been replaced by something shaken and sloppy and somehow more meaningful than any of his composed expressions.

“I love you,” Juno returned, for he couldn’t think of any other thing to say.

Nureyev caught his knuckles before they could sink back to his side and swept them into a kiss, brief and tender and saying all the things it seemed that Peter could not put into prose for the time being.

“The explosion didn’t reach you,” Nureyev explained slowly, once it seemed he had stopped most of his voice from cracking. “Too much of it left through the roof, just as you said.”

“It worked,” Juno grinned, affection for these long lost people blooming in his chest.

“Yes, well, it nearly killed you,” Nureyev pressed forward nonetheless. “The shockwave destroyed the roof, which was enough to break the door down when it reached your exit. I pulled you from the rubble before the explosion could get too close.”

“Dammit, I told you to—”

“I didn’t listen,” Nureyev interrupted with a small smile. “And here we both are. I’m sorry to say I couldn’t save all of you, but I suppose it’s far better than none.”

“All?” Juno croaked out.

Nureyev merely pressed a kiss to his forehead, his bottom lip landing on a mass of bandages Juno hadn’t quite noticed before.

“Your eye, dear,” he explained gently.

Juno’s hand shook when it rose, so Nureyev caught it part of the way through the air and helped it up towards his face until he could run his bandaged fingers over the wrappings without issue. He supposed it made sense, for the light coming towards that side of his face never changed when he blinked and tried to clear his head. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but broke off with a shake of his already tender head that took him barely a second to regret.

“Are you alright, my love?” Nureyev asked.

“Head hurts,” Juno chuckled.

“I don’t need to get the nurse, do I?”

“I just want you right now,” Juno sighed. 

“If you ever need me to help you with the eye somehow, I will,” Peter continued. “Or if I just need to alter my behavior in some way, please do tell me.”

“I’ve been missing it for ten minutes,” Juno snorted, though the laugh was a little weak. “I’ll tell you when I find anything out.”

Nureyev nodded, seeming to understand well enough. After his moment spent leaning over Juno as if parting would mean his death, he gave up, left his seat, and sat down upon Juno’s bed instead.

“Hey,” Juno smiled. 

“I’m not intruding, am I?” Nureyev smiled, though his shoulders clearly sagged from the effort of trying to keep the tone light. It was clear he had suffered significantly since they last spoke, and it was clearer that Nureyev was firmly trying to bury that in some corner of his mind he never intended to tread over again.

“Nobody else I’d rather see right now,” Juno returned, trying and failing to pick up some of the weight for himself when his smile faltered for a moment. 

“Dear?” Nureyev asked. Worry had seized his brow far too quickly, as if it had been creeping just behind a corner of his mind and preparing to strike at the first open opportunity. 

“Will you help me sit up?” He asked, pretending he hadn’t dealt a fatal blow to his pride when his arms refused to bear his weight.

“Of course, dear,” Peter replied. 

Juno didn’t care how Nureyev helped him into his requested position, though he had expected an utter lack of ceremony. However, even in slotting his arms beneath Juno’s and hoisting him upright, his touch was warm and tender and reverent. Even the initial tug was gradual and meditated. Nureyev clung to him like that for just a moment too long, and when time saw that they should part, he did so with his hand on Juno’s cheek and a kiss to his forehead.

When Nureyev pulled away, however, his soft, domestic expression dragged upon his face. He was laden with relief, as much as he tried and failed to bury his exhaustion with enthusiasm.

“Are you okay?”

Nureyev shook his head with a disbelieving laugh.

“Juno, love of my life, you’ve just lost an eye, and you’re asking me how I am?” He huffed.

“Yeah?”

For a moment, Peter’s worry turned fond.

“You’re impossible.”

“Heard that one before,” Juno snorted. “Really. I’ve missed you. I wanna know how you’re doing.”

“Well,” Nureyev started, though his defensive chuckle died upon his lips. “Not well, unfortunately. I’ve spent my entire life living out of hotel rooms in various countries, and yet this last week has been the longest I’ve ever known.”

“Week?” Juno sputtered.

“They didn’t think you would ever wake up again, Juno,” he explained, a little tersely. “Thankfully, I was able to pick Mister Engstrom’s pockets for enough to pay your hospital bill before we left Egypt.”

“God,” Juno breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You needn’t be, dear,” Nureyev bloomed into his wavering smile once more. “You’re with me now. That’s all I care about.”

Juno squinted up at his smile once more, spending far too many seconds trying to find just what was wrong with the expression. Eventually, he found his answer, for it faded away entirely into something barely above a grimace. Despite all his attempts to be full of life and light and every kind of crutch Juno would need to lean on upon waking up, it was clear that Nureyev was exhausted. He had borne the weight of Atlas for a week, and even with it removed, he still trembled and ached in response.

“Nureyev,” Juno began slowly. “You don’t blame yourself, do you?”

Nureyev opened his mouth to answer, but shut it. Even with years spent in art of deceit, it seemed this was far too great a lie for Peter Nureyev. Instead, he sighed and let his gaze fall away while Juno continued to give his hand the occasional squeeze.

“Juno, we noticed the pressure plate the first time we saw the passage,” he began quietly. “I should have known better than to step on it.”

“And I should’ve known to remind you,” Juno protested. 

“You were in physical distress,” Nureyev shot back. “I couldn’t have expected you to carry any more burden than you needed to, even mentally.”

“Oh, so those bandages under your shirt are just for fun, then?” 

Nureyev glanced down and flushed the moment he realized the newly redone bandaging around his lower waist was visible through his white shirt. A brief moment of distress crossed his face until Juno tugged at his hand.

“Hey,” Juno interrupted. “Look at me.”

“My wound tore open when I was pulling you out of the rubble,” he winced.

“This isn’t your fault,” Juno persevered. “Got it? I know I can’t stop you, but a hell of a lot more went into all of this than just you and me.”

Nureyev nodded, though what was clearly meant to be a brief moment dragged for far too long and eventually, his arms had fallen back around Juno’s midriff and his head had found its spot just above Juno’s heart, as if laying there was the only way Peter could believe the organ was beating at all. Juno didn’t have it in him to mind. He didn’t doubt Nureyev was nearly as tired as he was. After a hell of a week, Peter probably deserved whatever rest he got, even if he was crammed into a hospital bed for it.

Even though his arms were still achy and leadened, one of them even in a cast for an injury he didn’t remember sustaining, Juno still wrapped one arm around his shoulder and left his good hand to play with Nureyev’s hair. 

He knew well he wouldn’t sleep like that, so instead, he merely let himself ache, be it his limbs or ribs or head or chest, and did what he could to show a brief comfort to a man who’d walked through hell and back just to stay at Juno’s side. 

Juno was fairly sure that when Nureyev said all he cared about was Juno being with him, there had been a certain level of truth to his words. The Peter Nureyev he had met weeks ago had been a debonair master criminal who left neither footprints nor shadows. Juno Steel was meant to be a name he forgot. And yet, here the two of them were, as entwined in life as they were in limb. Juno leaned forward and kissed the top of Nureyev’s head, as if that in itself sealed the deal. 

After a moment of merely holding one another close and not sleeping, Juno finally sighed.

“Nureyev,” he began. “Where do you think you’ll go after all of this?”

“Well,” Nureyev began slowly. “I haven’t taken a vacation in quite some time. Perhaps I’ll grant myself the luxury and find some tourist trap with the world’s best pockets to pick. What do you think of that?”

“Do you think you’ll go alone?”

“Juno,” Nureyev all but gasped. “Did you really think I’d ever leave you behind after all of this?”

Juno opened and closed his mouth. 

“I mean, you don’t really need an anthropologist anymore,” he shrugged, wincing when it yanked on a pained muscle in his side.

“That’s hardly of the matter, Juno,” Peter smiled. “You’ve proven to be an excellent criminal already. Your work during the poker game was admirable. I can’t think of a thief who wouldn’t take notice.”

“What crimes have I even committed?” Juno snorted.

“Most of them,” Nureyev chuckled. “Internationally, as well.”

“Fine,” Juno huffed. “So what, is this some kind of job offer?”

“I’ll write up the paperwork in the morning,” Nureyev chuckled.

“The what?”

“A joke, dear,” Peter smiled. “In the meantime, all good crime requires sleep. I may be a terrible criminal in that department, but that does not mean this might very well be the first time I’ll be able to sleep in a week.”

“Honey,” Juno breathed.

“I’ll survive,” Nureyev huffed, though his words had already blurred into a yawn. “You did, darling.”

“Fine,” Juno huffed. “So where are we going?”

“Beg pardon?”

“On vacation,” Juno clarified. “Like, Rome, or Paris, or—”

“Love,” Nureyev chided, though his tone melted away into a laugh that left Juno’s chest warm and his head fuzzy. “Why don’t we make major life decisions when we’re well rested?”

Juno rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t kill his own grin.

“Whatever.”

“I love you too.”

Nureyev’s smile, now dragged into a relaxed, yet pleasant expression, bared the tips of his fangs. However, while the Nureyev that Juno had met seemed to be a feral beast, this Nureyev looked hardly different from a house cat, curled up or splayed out or otherwise deciding to make the most of its human heat source. He held Juno as if he would shatter the moment Nureyev let go. Juno didn’t mind.

Juno hurt all over. He hadn’t known this kind of physical pain in his entire life. He was sure that his legs would crumble if he tried to put weight on them and his mind felt so full of clouds that he couldn’t help but commend himself for a functional conversation. Defiantly, a fond warmth bloomed in his chest nonetheless.

Peter Nureyev, the nameless thief, the man beneath the masks, the master international criminal, had curled up upon and made a pillow of his heart. He had done so with a smile on his face and the offer of a life spent side by side on his lips. The man feared by politicians and fellow thieves alike had spent a week away from sleep just to ensure Juno would not wake alone, and after completing that mission, felt safe enough to fall asleep in his arms.

As much as he should have hated the moment, he couldn’t bring himself to, for Peter Nureyev had just promised him that he had planned the remainder of his life with plane tickets for two, and Juno had no intention of staying behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man. bout time they got that happy ending :')
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below!! I cherish them like my children
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo!!! hope you all are as hyped as I am!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill chase you with a boulder
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22!!


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